Casefiles of Mr Prentiss and Mrs Genius
by MadLori
Summary: On the job, they catch killers. Off duty they're just a married couple trying to navigate life. A series of short fics about Reid and Prentiss as profilers in everyday life. Follows "How to Fight Loneliness."  New casefile up: The Mysterious Manuscript
1. Case 1: The Frantic Friend, part 1 of 3

**Casefile #1: The Frantic Friend**

_temporal note: This story takes place about a month after the end of "How to Fight Loneliness."_

**Part 1 (of 3)**

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Emily jerked awake, sucking in a startled breath. She wasn't sure what had woken her, but she felt Spencer sitting up next to her, so he'd heard it, too. "What the hell?" he muttered.

"What is it?" Then, she heard it. A loud pounding on the front door. She looked at the clock – it was after three. "Jesus Christ," she said, her heart hammering.

Spencer got out of bed. "Who is that?" he said, going to their bedroom window, which looked out on the street. It was pouring rain out, and just to add to the ambiance, a flash of lightning and a rumble of thunder outlined him in silhouette.

Emily got up. "Let's go see." He turned and they shared a look. "Yeah, I'm getting my gun."

"Right behind you."

She went to the gun safe in the closet and keyed in the combination. She handed him his revolver and withdrew her Glock. They went downstairs, flanking the staircase, the presence of weapons in their hands shifting their brains into tactical mode. Spencer stood to the side of the door as Emily cautiously put her eye to the peephole. What she saw stunned her, but it wasn't a threat. She handed him her gun. "We won't be needing these." He put both their weapons aside as Emily unbolted and opened the door.

Standing on the stoop was Germany. She was soaking wet, shaking, and looked like she'd just been shipwrecked.

Emily stared at her. "Germany, my God!" She reached through the door and pulled her inside. "What's going on? What are you doing here?" She shut the door and bolted it again. "What...what's wrong? You're soaked!" It was frigid outside, the rain an icy November downpour. Her lips were blue and she was wearing only a sweater and jeans.

"Emily, we can interrogate her later," Spencer said. "Let's get her upstairs and warm her up, get her some dry clothes."

"Right...of course," Emily said. The shock of seeing her best friend standing on her doorstep like a drowned rat had robbed her of common sense. "Come on." They each took one of her arms and she let them lead her up the stairs and into their bedroom, then through into the bathroom. Spencer started the shower running and heating up, then went into the closet, probably to get Germany some clothes. Emily helped her out of her sodden sweater and jeans, tossing everything into the bathtub for the time being. "Marv, what's going on?" she asked quietly, but Germany was still shaking too badly to talk much.

Spencer came back in holding a bathrobe. "Here, put her in this. I'm going to go put some hot water on and make some tea or something."

She took the bathrobe. "I don't know what's going on," she whispered, feeling a little scared.

He touched her arm. "It'll be okay."

Emily went back to Germany and helped her undress the rest of the way, then put her in the hot shower. Her friend's body shook violently at the warmth, then gradually relaxed. Germany seemed to recover herself a little and was able to wash her own hair. "I'm sorry, Em," she said.

"It's okay. Are you all right?"

She nodded. "I'll be okay. Just let me get myself together, here."

"There are the towels and there's a bathrobe for you right here. Come downstairs when you're done and we'll talk." Germany nodded, and Emily left her to finish her shower in peace.

Spencer had made cocoa. "Seemed like the thing," he said, handing her a mug. She sat down at one end of the living-room couch, tucking her feet underneath her. "Did she say what happened?"

"No. I think she must have had some kind of awful shock and came here without fully realizing where she was going."

"She drove here from Philadelphia in that state? It's a miracle she didn't drive off the road."

"I'm just glad she remembered where we live." She heard footsteps on the stairs and stood up as Germany came in, wrapped in the robe with her hair still in a towel and Emily's slippers on her feet.

"Hey," she said with a little wave, looking sheepish.

"Come sit down," Emily said. "Have some cocoa."

"Oh my God, that sounds good," she said. She came to the couch and sat down between them, accepting a mug and taking a few sips. Emily sat close to her side; Spencer a little further away but turned toward her. Germany shut her eyes and lowered the mug. "You guys, I am so sorry to just show up like this. I don't know what was going through my head."

"Can you tell us what happened?" Spencer said.

She swallowed hard and her chin trembled. Emily reached out and took her hand. "Simon left me," she croaked out. She put down the mug and her free hand went to her face as it creased into miserable tears. Emily pulled her head down to her shoulder, exchanging an alarmed glance with Spencer over Germany's head. Simon and Germany were one of those forever couples, the kind that seemed immutable and so perfectly suited that it was impossible to imagine one without the other. Simon had been part of their group at Yale and particularly close to Germany; the two of them had spent the five years post-college being roommates and best friends until one day they'd had one of those romantic-movie moments when they looked at each other and realized they were in love. They'd married six months later and had never looked back, living like the free spirits they both were, traveling and having adventures. They were childless and wealthy thanks to Simon's real estate savvy and Germany's gift for investment planning and their life was...well, it was out of a magazine. And always, they had been so in love. Simon doted on Germany and she worshiped him.

Emily couldn't imagine Simon leaving her. "I can't believe it."

Germany straightened up, nodding. "I can't, either. I was in Denver last week and I got home tonight and his clothes and suitcases were gone. He must have been watching because I wasn't home fifteen minutes before he came in and said he was sorry, it was over, he couldn't stay with me anymore and he'd send me the papers."

Spencer looked just as suspicious as Emily felt. "He didn't give any indication of this before?" he asked.

Germany sighed, her eyes on her lap, her hand clutching Emily's. "We'd been having some...problems. I even thought he might be seeing someone else. But nothing that made me suspect he'd just up and leave me like this! He hugged and kissed me goodbye when I left for Denver, and we talked on the phone a couple of times, he said he missed me..." Tears rolled down her cheeks. Emily hugged her again.

"It's going to be okay," she said.

"I don't know why I came here," Germany sighed. "I wasn't thinking straight."

"Well, I'm glad you did. Did you bring any clothes or anything?"

"I threw some stuff in a bag...it's in the car."

Spencer got up. "I'll get it." He headed up the stairs.

"You can stay here with us," Emily said, rubbing Germany's shoulder. She'd never seen her like this. Germany was always the one fixing things, comforting people, and being a rock. "We have plenty of room."

Spencer came down the stairs with Germany's wet clothes in one hand and her keys in the other. "I'm just going to put these in the laundry," he said, disappearing around the corner.

"Can I have _your_ husband?" Germany said, with a tiny smile.

Emily smiled back. "No, sorry, he's mine. Anyway, you wouldn't want him. You want yours."

She nodded, the tears starting afresh. She turned and hugged Emily hard. "I don't know what to do," she sobbed.

Emily held her tightly. "Right now you just need to get some sleep. We'll figure things out tomorrow, okay?"

Germany nodded. "I'm so sorry I woke you guys in the middle of the night," she said.

Emily flapped a hand. "Tomorrow's Sunday, we can sleep in. You are going to get some rest and let us take care of you and we will figure this out, okay?"

She looked at Emily, her lower lip trembling again. "Thanks, Truff."

Emily smiled to hear her old college nickname. "What are friends for?" Emily gathered her up and hugged her again. She hoped she'd sounded confident, because she didn't know what she could do to fix this – if it was fixable.

* * *

Once Germany was tucked into the guest bedroom, Emily and Spencer went back to bed. She locked their guns back in the safe and crawled under the covers. "Man," she said, settling close to him. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders. "I'm in shock."

"I only met Simon that one time, but it sure seemed like they were happy."

"They were. They've always been. I would have bet my life on it."

An uneasy silence fell between them. Emily's mind was racing. _Germany and Simon were happy and in love. Spencer and I are happy and in love. If it could just suddenly end for them, could it be me someday showing up on Germany's doorstep?_

He pressed his lips to the top of her head. "I'll never leave you, Em," he whispered, like he knew what she was thinking.

"I'm sure Simon said that to Germany at some point."

"Let me rephrase. I'd never leave you without a fight. If we were having problems I'd try to fix them, I'd claw and scratch and do battle for us as long as I had to."

Emily propped up on one elbow and looked down at him. "We can't know what'll happen in ten years or twenty years. We could be where they are someday. I can't imagine it now, but no one ever can when it's new and they're in love."

"So what do we do?"

"I guess we take it one day at a time. No other choice." She lay back down and he drew her into his arms again.

"Maybe there's something else going on here," he murmured after a few minutes, one of his hands softly stroking up and down her back.

"What do you mean?"

"Seems awfully sudden."

"That's for sure."

"What if Simon's in some kind of trouble? What if he had some other reason for needing to get away?"

Emily sighed. "Is it horrible to hope that he is in some kind of trouble? It'd be a less confusing explanation for Germany."

"If he is, maybe we can help."

"I'll call Garcia tomorrow and see what she can find out."

"We should get more information from Germany about how he's been acting and why she thinks he was seeing someone else."

She turned her head so her nose brushed his. "Thanks for caring. She's my friend, after all."

"Well, all my friends are pretty much our friends, so why not her, too?"

Emily angled her jaw forward and kissed him, drawing it out slow. She held his gaze for a moment, a wordless conversation going on between their eyes. He turned on his side and they wound themselves tightly together, slow kisses turning into hard ones, their hands on each other beneath the covers warming their skins. He eased her over onto her back, his lithe body pressed against her from toes to chest. "Oh, Spencer," she sighed, pushing thoughts of Germany out of her mind.

* * *

Reid wasn't very good at sleeping in, a fact that caused Emily no end of consternation. "Get some extra sleep," she'd say. "It's the weekend, relax." And then she'd roll back over and snooze happily. He couldn't do it. Once he was awake, he was awake. There was always something he could be doing.

This morning Emily didn't stir at seven thirty when his eyes snapped open, right on schedule. He sighed. His brain could have given him an extra half hour after the interrupted night they'd had, but noooo, it was up and at 'em, Dr. Reid. He looked over at Emily, asleep on her back with her hand curled near her face, the morning light illuminating each tiny hair on the smooth skin of her bare breasts. His hands itched to touch them. His morning wood helpfully suggested that he kiss her awake and get them both started on their day with smiles on their faces, but it was overruled. They'd had some very satisfying sex just hours ago, after settling Germany into the guest bedroom. No need to get greedy.

He got up and put on cords and a button-down, his usual weekend uniform, and headed downstairs to make a pot of coffee, the first of many. He was just filling the percolator when he heard footsteps enter the kitchen.

When he turned, there was Germany, cocooned in the robe they'd given her with an afghan wrapped around her shoulders for good measure. She looked like hell. Spencer had always thought Germany was beautiful, in a vaguely intimidating Olympic-swimmer sort of way, but right now her face was blotchy and puffy and her hair was standing in alarming whorls around her head. "Good morning," he said.

"I heard you get up. I thought coffee might be a possibility."

"In this house, it's not a possibility, it's a guarantee."

She took a seat at the island. "I'm a little disappointed in you, Spencer. Here I thought you were a real coffee drinker. Just a regular old percolator?"

"I'm trying to convince Emily that we should get an espresso machine installed. With a dedicated steam line."

"She doesn't want one?"

"No, it's not that. She's afraid if we have one, I'll never leave the house again." He turned on the coffeepot. Germany sat at the island, fiddling with a loose yarn on the afghan. "How did you sleep?" he asked, gently.

She sighed. "About like you'd expect."

He nodded. He didn't know what else to say.

"Spencer?"

"Yeah?"

"You're an expert on human behavior, right?"

Reid leaned forward, elbows on the counter. "I am. But I don't think behavioral analysis is what you're looking for right now."

"I know. I just want to know why. I want to know what happened to us."

"Well...Emily and I are going to do everything we can to help, you know that, right?"

Germany nodded. She finally looked up and managed a small smile. "You're a sweet guy."

"Thanks," he said, his face reddening.

"You know, we used to worry about Emily. Well, not worry, exactly. She was fine on her own. But we wondered if there'd ever be anybody for her. She's amazing, and she deserved someone who appreciated her. Some of the guys she dated..." She shook her head. "When she told me she was dating a man she worked with, I thought oh boy, here we go again. But she said no, he's different, he's special."

"She said that?" he said. It was a little silly that he could get blushy and stammery on hearing that Emily had said nice things about him ages ago. She obviously had a good opinion of him or she wouldn't have married him, but he couldn't help feeling that age-old shimmer of excitement, the one that sounded something like _hee hee, the pretty girl likes me, maybe I'll get to kiss her, all the guys are gonna be soooo jealous._

Germany nodded. "I took it with a grain of salt. The more she told me about you, the more I thought this might be different, because you aren't her usual type. When she told me she was going to marry you, it seemed fast to me. I told her to take a deep breath, to think about this carefully. She said she didn't have to. She said...she said you were her Simon. She knew I'd get what that meant."

Reid watched helplessly as Germany's face creased in misery again and she began to cry. She hid her face in her hands and turned partly away. "I'm sorry," she choked out. "I never do this."

He went around the island and hugged her, not knowing what else to do. He just knew that when Emily was upset, he couldn't go too far wrong with a hug. Germany leaned against him and wept, waves of self-consciousness emanating from her. She was a tough woman, self-possessed and resilient, and he knew she must really hate being seen at a low moment. What Simon had done had really cut the legs out from under her, as it would anyone. He couldn't imagine coming home and finding that Emily had left him. The very thought made him sick to his stomach.

It felt weird to hold a woman other than Emily. He was hyperconscious of the differences. Germany was much taller than his wife was, almost his height, and sturdier. It felt like if she leaned too far forward she'd knock him right over. After a few minutes, she pulled herself together and pulled back, swiping at her eyes. Reid handed her a paper towel and she blew her nose. "Thanks," she said, her voice thick. "I think I needed that."

He patted her shoulder and went back around the island to pour their coffee. "I'm very sorry about all this," he said, setting a cup in front of her and going to the fridge for cream and sugar for himself.

"It isn't your fault. Just don't ever change, okay? Simon used to be my evidence that not all men are shits, but now you might have to take over that job."

"I don't think I can stand up for the worthiness of my entire gender."

They drank their coffee in silence for a moment. Germany was eyeing him with a look that he recognized. She was done feeling sorry for herself for the moment, so now it was time to Work Shit Out, as she called it. "Just don't you ever do to her what Simon's done to me."

Reid shook his head. About that, he could be confident. "I won't."

Emily came shuffling in, looking sleepy. She went right to Germany and hugged her from behind, wrapping her arms around her afghan-draped shoulders. "Morning," she said.

"Hey, Truff."

"How's my girl?"

"Surviving. Your husband is helping restore my faith in the male gender."

Emily straightened up and smiled over at him. "Yeah, he's handy like that. Listen, Spencer and I were talking last night, and there might be something we can do to help figure this out."

Germany looked a little hopeful. "Like what?"

"Well...we have a friend who can dig into Simon's financials and maybe figure out what's been going on. And I'd like to do a cognitive interview with you. It's a technique where I'll help you get back into the situation so you can better recall exactly what Simon said to you and when, and how he acted, and we might be able to...well..."

"Profile him?" Germany said.

"Sort of."

She squirmed on her stool. "I don't know, Emily. It's a little creepy. Spying on him, hacking into his life, profiling him? He isn't a serial killer."

Emily sighed. "No, he isn't. But if he's divorcing you, then you need to protect yourself by going into this with as much information as possible."

"You don't think Simon would try to cheat me, do you? He said he wanted a fair and painless divorce."

"I know he said that. But a week ago I would never have thought he'd leave you. I don't know what to think now. I just want to protect you."

Germany nodded. "You guys must already be suspicious if you're suggesting all this."

Emily glanced at him. Reid cleared his throat and chose his words carefully. "The way he left seems out of character. It makes me suspect that he's employing what we might term the 'pre-emptive strike' approach. Leaving you suddenly and without any warning, so that you'll be so off-kilter and shocked that you won't have the presence of mind to investigate or to contest anything, and once the papers are signed it's too late."

Germany looked stricken, like she hadn't considered this. "Maybe, yeah. I guess I ought to know the real score, huh?" She sighed. "Okay. You guys do whatever you think will help. I'm going to go upstairs and take a shower."

"Don't you want some breakfast first?" Emily said.

"I'm not hungry," Germany said, shaking her head. She got up and shuffled out of the room, her steps dispirited. Emily watched her go, her fingers tapping on the counter.

Reid put his hand on her shoulder. "She'll be okay," he murmured.

"Dammit, I could kill Simon," she said. "How can he do this to her? What isn't he telling her?"

"I don't know."

"Well, I'm going to find out." She took a deep breath and let it out, then turned and smiled at him, putting Germany's troubles aside for a moment. "Good morning, Dr. Reid."

He kissed her. "Good morning, Mrs. Reid. You're up earlier than I thought you'd be."

"I was hoping to be up before Germany, but no such luck." She put her arms around his waist and hugged him. "You're the best husband ever."

He hugged her back with one arm, his other hand still holding his coffee cup. "I don't think your one data point is enough to make that judgment. How do you know?"

"Because I stopped being envious of Germany the day I married you."

* * *

By ten o'clock everyone was dressed and fed. Germany had been persuaded to at least have some toast, and Spencer had slipped a poached egg onto her plate too, which she'd eaten without comment. She'd then gone upstairs to make some calls, leaving Emily to plan her cognitive interview. "How far back should I take her?" she wondered aloud, sitting in the leather recliner in the library, making notes on a legal pad.

"I'd go back a month, at least."

"I'm going to go back stepwise, one day at a time."

He nodded. "That'll help her remember."

"Did you call Garcia?"

"Yep. She's having lunch with her brother but she said she'd be over right after."

"Oh, her brother? Which one?"

"Tony. He's in town for a convention. She and Morgan are taking him to Hamburger Hamlet."

"Oh, man. One of those burgers sounds really good right about now."

"Wanna go later? Maybe Germany would appreciate getting out of the house."

"Hmm. Yeah, maybe." She craned her neck. Spencer was sitting at the table with his back to her. "What are you doing?"

"Oh...nothing."

She smiled. "You're doing Voynich stuff, aren't you?" The anniversary gift she'd given him, two days' access to the mysterious Voynich Manuscript at Yale University, was coming up in a few weeks. He'd been trying to be cool about it but she could see that he was getting more and more impatient.

"Umm...I might be."

She got up and leaned over him, sliding her arms around his shoulders from behind. "It's okay to be excited," she murmured in his ear, placing a quick little kiss on his cheek.

"I'm supposed to be working on my article," he said.

"You've got a month until that's due and we both know you could finish it in six hours if you decided to."

He smiled. "I am excited about the manuscript. I've been making a plan of exactly which pages I want to examine more closely and what I want to look for."

"What do you hope to see that you can't see on the high-res online images? Or the copies?"

"I don't know. That's the exciting part. Maybe nothing, but maybe something." He twisted in his chair, pulled her around and down onto his lap. "I'm glad you're coming with me," he said, his hand stroking her hip.

"Someone has to mind you and make sure you come out of that library long enough to eat something and sleep."

He grinned. "Oh, you think you're going to get any sleep while we're up there? That's so cute."

Emily wasn't quick enough with a snappy retort before he swooped in and pulled her into a deep kiss. Her toes curled and she drew up closer to him, grasping his shoulders and pulling herself tighter onto his lap. His arms went around her back and she plunged her tongue into his mouth, tangling one hand in his hair. His hand that wasn't supporting her back wandered up and down her side, around to cup her ass, then up to her breast for a quick grope, then back around and over again. It was maddening.

Predictably, a footstep in the doorway made Emily jerk away. Germany jumped back. "Oh, geez...sorry, guys, didn't mean to interrupt your making out."

Emily scrambled off Spencer's lap. "No, you didn't – it's okay, we weren't, uh..."

"You were just talking, right?" Germany said, a hint of a smile coming to her lips.

Emily glanced down at Spencer, red-faced and suddenly fascinated by the book in front of him. "It's no big deal. We can make out anytime." She nudged him in the shoulder with her elbow. "Right, honey?" He just gave her The Eyebrow. "Come on, I need some more coffee," she said, steering Germany back toward the kitchen. "The one constant in this house is that there is always coffee."

"Spencer told me he wants an espresso machine," Germany said, retaking her earlier seat at the kitchen island.

"Actually, I'd love to get one, but I'm fighting the good fight. It's bad enough we have a Viking stove and a SubZero fridge. I don't want to be one of _those_ homeowners, you know. With the gadgets and the yuppie toys."

Germany laughed. It did Emily's heart good to hear it. "Truff, I think that ship sailed when you moved into a house with its own library."

"Yeah, maybe so."

"And _are_ you a homeowner? I thought you said this was his house."

"He's my husband, what's his is mine and vice versa, although I'm sure he doesn't care about his half-ownership of my comprehensive collection of The Cure's albums on vinyl." She cocked her head and peered at Germany, who was examining the countertop with great interest. "What is it?"

She sighed. "Emily, I – I feel like I owe you an apology. Not just you, Nora and Kate, too."

"Why?"

"Because all these years, in my heart of hearts I've been – oh, what's the word? Smug. I've been smug about my life. Kate makes six figures, but she's been married three times and it looks like she's going to go three for three on messy divorces. Nora's husband is a waste of skin but she can't be bothered to get rid of him, and her kids are – sorry, but they're horror shows, both of them." Emily nodded, privately agreeing. "And you have a great job you love, but you were single so long and kept dating losers. I hate to be so blunt, but you did."

"Hey, no argument from this quarter."

"I love and support all of you, but in my secret self I felt just a little bit superior about my life, my perfect husband, my wonderful marriage, everything was just peachy keen. I'd get off the phone with Kate after she'd had another blow-up with whichever husband or with Nora when she was at her wit's end with her kids and I'd think, thank God my life's in such good shape." She sniffed. "I guess I'm being punished for thinking so well of myself. You'd be perfectly justified in lording it over me now. I mean, look at you. Here you are fighting evil and catching bad guys and living in this gorgeous movie-set house with your thirty-year-old genius FBI agent fashion model of a husband and my supposedly perfect life is in shambles." She met Emily's eyes. "I don't mean to sound bitter. I'm so happy for you, you know I am. But seeing you guys look at each other, it's so obvious you're so in love – all I can think about is that I had that. I thought it was forever. But in the course of one day, it all fell apart."

"No, it didn't," Emily said, leaning forward to take her hands. "Not for Simon. This didn't happen in one day, you just weren't aware of it happening. We're going to figure it out, okay?"

"Maybe I don't want to know. Will knowing why somehow make it right again? I don't even know what 'right' is anymore. Do I even want him back if he could do this to me?"

"The more I think about it, the more I'm sure there's something else going on here, Germany. This just isn't like Simon."

"Not like the Simon I know, anyway. But what if I don't really know him? What if the man I thought I knew and loved was just some kind of a mask?" She swiped at her eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm being defeatist."

"Yes, you are. And that isn't like you."

"I guess I've never faced down this kind of defeat." She looked up at Emily. "Can we just talk about something else for a minute?"

"Sure."

"I haven't talked to you since your anniversary party. Any progress on the kids front?"

Emily sighed. "I'm letting him come around to his own decision."

"I can't help but think you should have some say, too."

"He knows how I feel. I can't dictate how he feels or try to force him around to my opinion. I wouldn't want to."

Germany nodded. "That sounds very mature, very adult, very thoughtful. Except that I know you desperately want to have that man's little genius babies."

"I can't let my emotions take over in this situation."

"Emily, if ever there was a topic to get emotional about, this is it."

"Not if I want him to be in this with me." She refilled her coffee cup. "I'm trying not to get my hopes up, but honestly? I think it's going to happen. I think he's going to eventually decide that he wants it, too."

"How do you know?"

"Because he already does, secretly. He's just covered it up in fears and misgivings and self-doubt. He's never really had to consider it before, because it wasn't an option for him until we got together. Right now my job is to stay out of his way until he gets used to the fact that he's not actually the guy the world made him believe he was."

* * *

_Author's Note: I have at least four of these short Casefile fics started up. I will be posting them all under this umbrella series title so they'll be easy to find. I also have a few more substantial followups to "How to Fight Loneliness" in the works. These Casefiles are more for fun._


	2. Case 1: The Frantic Friend, part 2 of 3

Garcia was there at two. "Oh, you poor thing," she exclaimed, hugging a surprised Germany, whom she'd met once at Reid and Emily's anniversary party. "We are gonna get to the bottom of this, I swear." She set herself up in the library with Simon's social security number, and went to work on him.

Emily led Germany into the den and had her sit in the reclining leather chair by the fireplace, the comfiest chair in the room. She sat on the ottoman near her feet while Spencer sat across the room, out of Germany's direct line of vision, so he could take notes without distracting her. Germany looked a little dubious as Emily made her comfortable. "You're not going to hypnotize me, are you, Truff?"

She chuckled. "No. But a cognitive interview works best when you can relax and just let your mind remember things. So close your eyes and don't try to think of the right answer, just remember things. Okay?"

"Okay."

Emily sat down and began. She took her time, taking Germany back a day, then a week at a time, asking neutral questions, easing her into the situation, getting her mind back into her normal life, her Philadelphia apartment, Simon, and their relationship. For an hour she questioned her, got her remembering things, details, the minutiae of life. Reid just watched, not taking notes yet. Emily was good at this. He could do it, but it wasn't his forte. She had a way of easing people into memories that impressed him.

"Germany, what was the first thing that struck you as odd about Simon's behavior?" Emily finally asked, when Germany was comfortable and in the moment.  
"I'd have to say...the portfolio. He wanted to go over the portfolio."

"Your stock portfolio?"

"Yes. We have several. He said he was feeling uneasy about the level of risk we had."

"Why was that strange?"

"Simon wasn't afraid of risk. He respected it, but he'd take it if he felt it was justified. Suddenly he was being all cautious." She frowned. "And the next day he wanted to go over our wills and stuff like that."

Germany kept talking as Emily asked her questions designed to spur memories. She told them about Simon's increasing distance, a few hang-ups on his cell phone when she answered, disappearing browser histories and empty text message inboxes. Then a lost cell phone, and a new number, which had seemed odd. Everything she said supported the theory Reid had going in his head. What really clinched it was when Germany remembered that she'd seen that Simon had made an appointment to speak to his lawyer. Not _their_ lawyer, the lawyer he'd used when his father had died to handle probate.

Emily had heard enough, too. She took Germany's hand. "We're done, Marv," she said, using Germany's college nickname. Each of the four friends had one. Reid was still waiting to learn where they came from. Nora's was Cub, and Kate's was Hoop.

Germany sat up. "That wasn't so bad."

"I told you."

"Did you figure anything out?"

Emily glanced back at him and he gave her a nod. "Yeah, I think we did." She reached out for Germany's other hand. "Honey...Simon's actions are those of a man who's been putting his affairs in order. He isn't sick, is he?"

"No, not that I know of!" Germany exclaimed, looking a little alarmed. "Why wouldn't he tell me if he was?"

"He would. Which is why I think something else is going on. I think you were right about Simon, at least in part. He did have an affair. I think it's probably over, based on how you described his behavior recently."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you said he'd been distracted, but then it was like he was back. And he was more attentive to you than ever. But last week he suddenly became secretive again."

She nodded. "It was like flipping a switch."

"I think Simon might be having...well, a Fatal Attraction experience."

"A Fatal Attraction experience?"

Reid got up and joined them. "He changed his cell phone number. He's examining his will. He's ducking meetings, avoiding serious discussions. He's calling you more frequently than usual. He's afraid but is trying to act natural."

"Who could be doing this to him?" Germany said. "I can't think of anyone he might have slept with who would then have gone all psycho on him!"

"I may be able to help with that," Garcia said, coming into the room carrying her laptop. "Pumpkin, your husband may be a financial whiz but he is no secret agent. He might as well have left neon signs pointing me to it. Do you know a woman named Marcella Reese?"

Germany's jaw dropped. "_Marcie?_"

"I'll take that as a yes, then."

"Marcie. Goddamn."

"Who is this woman?"

"She works in his office, she's their computer technician." She looked up at Garcia. "Simon really had an affair with her?"

"Well, 'affair' might be stretching it. It doesn't look like it lasted more than a week. They met a few times. I've got a couple of credit card receipts that match dates and places with hotel bills, that kind of thing, plus cell phone records and texts. But then Simon ended it. I can't track his contact with her since, I think he got a disposable cell phone to use because there's nothing else on the number that's registered to him. Marcie's phones, on the other hand...it's like the Story of Him. She's calling him dozens of times a day. Mostly hang-ups, no messages. No text messages, she must be worried about leaving a trail. She's been following him around; I tracked her movements through her cell phone's GPS and her browser history and..." Garcia sighed. "Honey, this woman's obsessed with him. She's gone grade-A looney tunes."

"Holy shit, why wouldn't he have just told me?" Germany said.

"He may be afraid to. Both because of the affair and because of what this woman might do if he does."

"Sweetie, is your cell phone on?" Garcia asked.

"No, I turned it off."

"Because Simon's called you four times this morning."

"I don't want to talk to him."

Emily squeezed her hand. "You did disappear into the night, Marv. He's probably worried."

"Let him worry."

"Why don't I call him and just tell him you're safe?"

Germany sniffed. "I guess that'd be all right."

"No, let me do it," Reid said. "Emily, you'll be perceived as siding with Germany no matter what. He might tell me things he wouldn't tell you."

"You barely know him."

"Yeah, exactly. He doesn't have to preserve a friendship or worry about burning bridges."

Germany fished her phone out of her pocket. "Here," she said, handing Reid her phone. He hesitated. He hated to see her looking so dispirited.

"I'll be back," he said. He went into the living room and got Simon's number out of Germany's phone, using his own phone to place the call. He didn't want him to recognize the number.

He waited while it rang. "Simon Chester," came the eventual answer. The voice was clipped, impatient.

"Simon, it's Spencer Reid."

"Who?"

"Dr. Spencer Reid. Emily's husband?"

"Oh, my God. Is Germany all right? Is she hurt?" A definite edge of panic to the voice.

"She's fine. She's here with us."

"Oh, thank goodness. Her car was gone and no one's seen her, she wasn't answering her cell phone."

"She showed up here at three in the morning in a rainstorm, Simon."

"Jesus," Simon said. He sounded shaky. "I never wanted any of this."

"Why don't you tell me what happened?"

"How much do you know?"

"We know you had a brief affair with Marcie Reese, and she's become obsessed with you, maybe dangerously so. She's said threatening things and she's stalking you. You're worried for your personal safety and for Germany's."

"You got all that in one morning?"

"We do this for a living, you know."

"Of course, of course. All that's true but it isn't the whole story. Can't I just talk to Germany? I ought to be telling her this."

He was tempted to tell him that Germany didn't want to speak to him, but he didn't know that for sure. He went back into the den. Emily and Germany looked up as he entered. "He'd like to speak to you," he said.

Germany glanced at the phone, then back at Emily. "Will you guys stay?"

"If you want us to."

She nodded, then took the phone. She put it on speaker. "Simon? Emily and Spencer can hear you, too."

"Can't we talk in private, Ger?"

"No, I think this is just fine for now."

"I was so worried about you."

"Maybe you should have thought of that before you left me!"

"I know, I'm...this is crazy. I can't believe any of this is happening."

"Simon, _you're making it happen._"

"No. I'm not." He made a choked kind of half-sob. "I can't do this. Not like this. You're safe there with Emily. I have to go."

"No, wait!" Germany said. "Simon..." But he'd hung up.

Germany looked up at them, her eyes wide with confusion. "What the freaking fuck was that about?"

"I don't think he wanted to leave you," Reid said. "When he realized who was calling, his first question was if you were all right, and by his tone he'd been honestly afraid something had happened to you. He believes in Marcie Reese's instability. He believes she's dangerous."

"What if she's blackmailing him?" Emily said. "Leave your wife to be with me or I'll...I don't know. Kill her."

"I can't imagine anybody being crazy enough to do something like that," Germany said. "And she always seemed so normal."

"One thing I've learned in my job is never to underestimate how crazy seemingly ordinary people can get," Emily said.

"That's true," said Garcia, who'd been tap tapping away on her laptop the whole time, "but this woman isn't quite ordinary. Marcella Reese is not her real name. She changed it five years ago when she moved to Philadelphia, probably because she wanted a fresh start. Before that she was Marcella Daniels, and she had several hospitalizations. Based on the medications she's taking I'd say she's bipolar. She tried to harm herself several times and threatened harm to others, though she never actually hurt anyone before. She demonstrated obsessive erotomanic tendencies before this, once becoming obsessed with a graduate school professor to the point that he took out a restraining order. She seems to do just fine when she's taking her meds, but she hasn't refilled in eight weeks. She's off the reservation, sports fans."

Germany was silent. Reid watched her face. Emily was watching her too, looking worried. "I'm hungry," Germany finally said.

"What?" Emily said, frowning.

"I can't think about this anymore right now. I'm just...hungry. Can we get out of here? Please?"

"Sure," Emily said. "Let's go out and get some dinner. It's after four and none of us ate lunch, I'm hungry, too. Where do you want to go?"

"I don't care. Someplace cheerful."

Reid grinned. "I know just the place."

* * *

"Doctor Spencer!" Hilda exclaimed, rushing forward with her arms raised. Reid grinned and let her wrap him up, smelling blintz dough and curry. "Oh, you do not come to see us in so long! And Mrs. Doctor, you come too!" she said, hugging Emily.

"I'm sorry we haven't been by in awhile, Hilda," Reid said. "We don't live as close anymore."

She shook her finger at them. "You young people, always so busy. You must take time to eat and have some wine and relax. Look at you, both of you are too skinny. But who is your friend? She, she knows how to eat, look at those muscles! Like a Russian swimmer, she is!"

Emily, giggling, brought Germany forward. "Hilda, this is our friend Germany."

"Sorry, she is like German swimmer, of course, you are right."

"No, no...her _name_ is Germany."

"Name? What kind of name is this? For lovely lady like you, ought to be Julia or Annabelle!"

Germany was laughing by now, too. "My parents named me after the place they met."

"Ah, I see. I suppose these things happen. And who is this lady, now? My god, she is sparkling like it is Christmastime!"

"This is Penelope, our friend from work."

"Oh, I love you and your big red lips!" Hilda said, hugging Garcia, who gladly hugged back. "You I can give many blintzes to and you will eat them, I think. Come and sit down, let me get Olek, he will want to say hello."

They got the best booth in the rear corner, and eventually the hubbub died down once Olek came out and made the same exclamations over them as Hilda had. They were set up with Thai iced tea and coffee. "Do we get menus?" Germany said.

"Oh, no. Hilda will bring us what she thinks we ought to eat," Reid said.

"So, I guess you guys have been here before," Garcia said, grinning.

Emily smiled, looking a little nostalgic. "Spencer brought me here on our first date," she said. "It's kind of a special place for us." He slipped his arm around her and she looked up at him, a private little smile passing between them.

"You brought her _here_?" Germany said, laughing. "I guess you weren't going for that whole first-date big impressive itinerary, huh?"

"My old apartment is just a couple of blocks away. I'd been coming here for years. Hilda and Olek had kind of adopted me. She was always on me about how come I hadn't found a nice girl. So when I was thinking of where to bring Emily, all I could think of was here."

"It was perfect. It was so him. And he didn't need to impress me. But he did, without trying to. That was the most impressive part. Well...until later that night, that is," Emily said, grinning.

Garcia shrieked with laughter while Reid blushed. "Morgan owes me twenty bucks!" she crowed.

"Over what?" Emily said.

"I was sure that you two had gone to bed on your first date, and he thought you were too much of a gentleman for that!"

"He is a gentleman!" Emily said, indignant. "He let me have the first shower the next morning." She laughed with the other two women, and Reid was beginning to feel distinctly outnumbered.

"I feel like I'm stuck in an episode of 'Sex and the City,'" he said.

Germany made a face. "I hate that show."

"Oh, I love it," Garcia said. "Fabulous shoes that I as a mere federal employee will never be able to afford."

A brief silence fell. "I appreciate you guys doing this for me," Germany said, her tone subdued. "I mean, taking me out. Trying to cheer me up."

"Of course," Emily said, taking Germany's hand on the table.

"I wish I had friends like you guys do," Germany said, looking over at Garcia.

"You have a ton of friends!"

"I have a ton of acquaintances. A few friends. My real, close, true friends are all over the world. Why do you think I drove here when I needed someplace to go? I just -- needed my Truff," she said, choking up a little. Emily slid over and hugged her. Germany hugged back.

Garcia smiled at them. "Truff?" she said.

"The four of them have nicknames," Reid explained. "Emily is Truff, Germany is Marv, Nora is Cub and Kate is Hoop."

"Where'd they come up with those?"

"I don't know. I've never asked."

Emily and Germany looked at each other. "Shall we tell them?" Germany said.

"Why not?" Emily cleared her throat. "The four of us met at freshman orientation and bonded there. One of the little get-to-know-you games we played was to pick our favorite Dr. Seuss book and be a character from it and make the others guess. My book was 'The Lorax.'"

Reid grinned. "Of course. Truff. Because truffula trees are what everyone needs."

Germany nodded. "Precisely. Nora's book was The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins. Kate's was Scrambled Eggs Super, which has a character in it named Peter T. Hooper. And mine was..."

"Marvin K. Mooney, Will You Please Go Now!" Garcia cried.

"Yep."

"That is so precious."

Germany sighed, still holding Emily's hand. "Yeah. It is."


	3. Case 1: The Frantic Friend, part 3 of 3

The four of them lingered at Hilda's for several hours, drinking coffee (no one thought wine was a great idea) and eating Hilda's delicious hamentaschen. They kept the conversation light. Emily and Germany told funny stories from their college days, Garcia kept them all in stitches with tales of Kevin's antics and the mischief gotten up to by their LARPing club. Emily was starting to feel relaxed. She leaned back against Spencer's side, his arm across the back of the booth behind her head, and rested her hand on his knee as they talked, reassuring herself that while Germany's seemingly-perfect marriage may have fallen apart, hers was intact.

It wasn't until Germany was almost literally nodding off at the table that she'd agree to leave. "I'm okay!" she insisted.

"Germany, you didn't get much sleep. You were up half the night driving and you were out of bed before nine!"

"Yeah – sleep does sound kinda good."

The piled back into Emily's car and headed back to the house -- but when they got there, Emily saw with a sinking feeling that sleep probably wasn't forthcoming for any of them.

Simon was sitting on the front porch, waiting for them.

"You want me to keep driving?" Emily said. "I can take you to Garcia's house and we'll deal with Simon."

"No," Germany said, sounding very sure of herself. "No, I ought to face him. Sooner rather than later. And I ought to do it alone."

Emily pulled into the driveway. "You sure?" she said.

Germany nodded, staring out the window at her husband, who wasn't looking much like his usual dapper self. In fact, he looked like hell. "I'm positive." She looked back at them. "Give us a little while. Then we'll see."

"We'll be nearby," Reid said. "And we have guns."

That got a smile out of Germany. "Thanks. That's good to know." She got out of the car and walked across the front lawn to meet him.

"So...we just stay in the car?" Garcia said.

"No, we'll go in the back door," Emily said. They piled out and tried to unobtrusively walk up the driveway to the kitchen door.

"I ought to go home anyway," Garcia said. "Kevin's probably wondering what happened to me. Let me grab my stuff." She headed for the library.

Emily dropped her keys on the island and ran a hand through her hair. "He got here fast," she muttered.

"Too fast to have driven."

"He does have access to a few private planes."

"If he went to that much trouble he must really want to talk to her."

"I wonder if she'd take him back."

"He cheated on her."

Emily shrugged. "Germany isn't overly invested in the concept of monogamy. She could forgive him sleeping with someone else. It's the secrecy and the abandonment she'll have trouble with. I honestly don't know what to think."

"I can't imagine sleeping with someone else."

She smiled. "That's nice of you to say, even if it's a lie."

"It's not a lie."

"Spencer, just because we're married doesn't mean we'll never be attracted to someone else, or never want to sleep with anyone else. It means we _refrain_ from sleeping with someone else." She leaned against the edge of the counter and pulled him over to her. "I want us to be able to talk about it if that happens."

"You mean if one of us gets a crush on someone?"

"Yes. I'm not going to go off on a tear if you look at another woman. I don't own your eyes or your brain."

He sighed. "Your ability to be rational in the midst of emotion never ceases to amaze me. I can appreciate the sense and reason of what you're saying, but the thought of you wanting to sleep with some other man makes me kind of crazy."

"I'm not saying I do. But I could. All I can promise you is that I _won't._"

"Glad to hear it." He leaned forward and kissed her. It was just getting interesting when they were interrupted by a wolf whistle. They turned to see Garcia in the doorway, her laptop stowed in her bag.

"That's hot. Necking by the cold coffee. Whoa, mama."

"Thanks for coming over, PG," Emily said, going right by the snark that was on offer.

"Oh, my pleasure. Anytime I can help the intrepid duo of Mr. Prentiss and Mrs. Genius unravel another mystery, it's a good day." She grinned and kissed both of their cheeks, then headed for the back door. "But don't call me tonight. I've got some catching up to do with my own sweetie." She waggled her fingers at them and was gone.

Spencer faced her again, his eyes still half-distracted with what they'd been doing. Emily reached behind her and hopped up on the kitchen island, then pulled him up close between her knees. He put his hands on either side of her hips and leaned in, having to look up slightly at her now with her sitting on the countertop. "Yes?" he murmured, his voice low and sexy.

"Can we just make out for a little while longer?" she whispered.

In lieu of an answer, he just smiled and recaptured her lips, wrapping his arms around her back. Emily sighed into his mouth and wound her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his hips, pulling him as close as she could, craving some contact with her guy. She always felt so secure when he held her like this, his long-fingered hands splayed over her back like he was trying to touch all of her at once. His mouth was hot and tasted of coffee; his full lips felt amazing against her own. His restless hands were never still, they moved and stroked and massaged her, sliding up her back to squeeze her shoulders then back down to wrap tight about her waist, sometimes wandering up to tangle in her hair. Emily had been with her share of men, but no one had ever made her feel as desired as he did. She just hoped she was doing the same for him.

She didn't know how long they stayed there, necking by the cold coffee, as Garcia had said, but it felt really, really good. Emily hoped she and Spencer could maintain their sexual connection as time passed. They'd only been married a little over a year, so the bloom was not yet off the rose, but time would go by and she knew they'd have to work to maintain it, especially if they became parents, as she still hoped they would. She'd always been a firm believer that a good sex life couldn't make a relationship, but a bad one could break it, and she would not see them broken. "Let's always make time for this," she said, as he kissed his way across her jaw and down her neck.

"Time for what?"

"You know. To keep lusting after each other."

She felt his lips arch in a smile. "I don't think it'll be a problem to make time for this." He straightened up and met her eyes. "The problem is to make time for everything else."

Emily laughed, reassured. She was moving in to kiss him again when they both heard the front door open. "Emily? Spencer?" Germany called.

She hopped off the island and they went into the foyer. "What's going on?" she asked. Germany's eyes were red and wet, but she seemed calm. Simon was lurking behind her, looking like he'd like nothing better than to disappear into a hole in the wall.

Germany turned toward him, her hands on her hips. "I think you should tell Emily and Spencer everything, Simon. Maybe they can help. Anyway, they deserve to know what's really going on, don't you think?"

Simon sighed. "All right."

"Let's go in the den," Emily said. She sat on the ottoman, Spencer taking a seat on the edge of the chaise lounge. Germany and Simon sat side by side on the couch.

Simon's body language was penitent. He sat on the edge of the cushion, leaning forward with his hands clasped between his knees. "I only slept with her once," he said. "I don't know what I was thinking. I was at her house helping her hang some pictures. We got to talking. About children. She'd always wanted to have a baby, but hadn't ever found anyone. And I..." He fetched a deep sigh. "For years I'd been feeling like I wanted a child but I never said anything. I know how Germany feels about it and she is so much more important to me, so I just made my peace with it. It was like Marcie understood something about me that night, and somehow...yeah. I saw her again that week and told her it could never happen again. She seemed just as upset by it as I was. I thought that was that. But a month ago, she told me she was pregnant." He stopped, shaking his head. "And then, things got ugly. She got ugly. She said I had to leave my wife and raise the baby with her. I told her that was never going to happen. I'd help her, I'd do right by her, but I wouldn't leave my wife."

"I wish you'd just told me," Germany said, her voice a hoarse whisper.

"I didn't know how," he said, the words barely audible. "I knew I'd have to eventually. I could never have kept from you that I had a child with another woman. But then...she miscarried. I was sad, but in a way I was relieved. I thought this could all go away. But Marcie really came unglued then. She started calling me all the time, she'd show up places and confront me, it was becoming an untenable situation. Then she started making threats against you," he said, looking at Germany. "I was paralyzed. I didn't know what to do. She said if I didn't leave you, she'd hurt you."

"Did her threats seem legitimate?" Emily asked.

"I don't know. I couldn't afford to take the risk, though, could I? I buttoned up and buckled down and tried to deal with it on my own. I tried to take out a restraining order, but they wouldn't grant me one without an overt act of aggression."

"If you seriously thought I was in danger you should _really_ have told me what was going on," Germany said.

"I know. I was going to when you got back from Denver. But the night before you got back, I came home from work and she was in the house."

"How'd she get in?" Reid asked.

"I have no idea. We have an alarm system. Well, that scared the shit out of me, as you can imagine, but I tried to stay calm. I thought, I'll leave with her, act like I'm going to do what she wants, buy some time. When you got home and I came in and told you? She was waiting outside, listening, to make sure I really did it. I snuck away later to come back and try and explain, but you were gone. I went back to where I'd left Marcie and _she_ was gone. Then I really panicked. I was afraid she'd done something to you."

"Where is she now?" Emily asked.

"I have no idea."

"You don't think she'd come here, do you?" Germany asked.

"Simon, if this woman is as far gone as you've described, there's every reason to believe she'd have the ability to follow you here."

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Reid and Emily glanced at each other. "I'll get it," he said, and got up. Emily saw him surreptitiously unsnap his holster as he went. She, Simon and Germany exchanged looks, then they all got up and went to the doorway, leaning out to hear what was going on.

"Jesus, you think it's her?" Germany said. "How could she have found us?"

"You'd be surprised," Simon said, grimly.

Emily heard Spencer open the door. "Yes?" he said, neutrally.

"Is he here?" came a quavering, woman's voice. She saw Simon tighten up.

"Christ. It's her," he said.

"Who are you?" Spencer was asking.

"I'm looking for Simon Chester. He's here, I know he is."

"Ma'am, if someone by that name were here, that's none of your business. Please leave."

"Who the hell are you?" she said, her voice suddenly going snarly.

"I'm Special Agent Spencer Reid and this is my house."

"You're trying to keep me from him!"

"I can't let this go on," Simon said, and walked out of the den.

"Simon!" Emily hissed. "Germany, no!" she said, as Germany followed right after him. "Dammit," she grumbled, going after them.

The second Marcie saw Simon, she pushed past Spencer into the house. "Simon!" she cried, drawing up short when she saw Germany. "What's _she_ doing here? You said you were leaving her!"

Emily met Spencer's eyes. _She has a gun,_ he mouthed, glancing down at Marcie's bag. Emily unsnapped her own holster and started slowly working her way around to the woman's other side.

Germany had a hold of Simon's arm. "Marcie, you're not thinking straight," he said. "I won't leave Germany. I love her. I don't love you."

Marcie shook her head. "You told me you loved me, and you wanted to only be with me!"

"I never said that," he said. "I really never did," he said to Germany.

"Worry about me later," she said out of the side of her mouth. "Deal with the crazy woman now."

"Right. Marcie, it's just because you're off your medications."

"I couldn't stay on them, because of the baby!"

"I know that. But the baby's gone, remember?"

"No!" she cried, and suddenly the gun was in her hand. Spencer must have been waiting for it, because his gun was up and drawn in an instant. Emily drew her Glock and stepped in front of Simon and Germany.

"Put the gun down, Marcie," she said.

She raised it toward Germany but couldn't get a shot at her because Emily was in the way. Spencer was inching his way closer to Marcie's side while her attention was diverted. His eyes kept flicking over to her. Emily knew that he was thinking of how to disarm her, but he was also worried that Emily might get shot. "I can't think," Marcie sobbed, the gun shaking in her hand.

"Put the gun down and we'll get you some help," Emily said, low and soothing. "You don't want to hurt anybody."

"He hurt _me!_"

"I know he did. But this isn't the answer." The gun was wobbling more and more. Marcie sobbed something incoherent that Emily couldn't understand. "Put the gun down."

She was crumpling. Spencer had gotten to within a few feet of her. He darted in, wrapped one arm around her chest from behind, and plucked the gun from her hand. Emily stepped in and took it from him while he got her down on the ground, a sobbing wreck. She struggled weakly, but he had all the leverage and she couldn't free herself. Emily turned around to see Simon and Germany in a tight embrace. He was crying and clinging to her. Emily holstered her gun and popped the magazine out of Marcie's. She looked down to where Spencer still had Marcie on the ground in something of a half-assed half-nelson. Good thing she wasn't resisting very hard. "Um...cuffs, please?" he said.

* * *

The police came for Marcie and she was spirited away, hopefully to a psych ward. "I don't think that restraining order will be a problem now," Emily said to Simon.

She left Germany and Simon huddled together in the living room and went out to the front steps, where Spencer was watching the police car pull away, having given the officer a statement. Being FBI agents expedited the whole process, which was a nice perk of the job. "Nice moves, Agent Reid," she murmured.

"Pure improvisation."

"I'm pretty hot for you right now."

He smirked. "Taking down a mentally unstable woman who's in sobbing hysterics isn't exactly a task requiring Morganesque levels of tackling ability."

"I guess I'm just a girly girl after all, who likes to see her man being all manly."

"Yeah, cause all you did was stand in front of the bullets, Lola." He wrapped one arm around her shoulders. "Not how I planned to spend Sunday afternoon."

"Just another boring weekend Chez Reid. Three a.m. visitors and computer hacking and profiling and bipolar erotomanics."

He chuckled. "You think Simon and Germany will be okay?"

"I think so. The batshit crazy of the situation mitigates his misbehavior somewhat. Germany's not one to hold a grudge. I think the part she'll have the most trouble with is that he never told her that he'd changed his mind about having children."

"You think she wants them, too?"

"No. But she'd want to know if he did."

He rubbed her arm. "It's freezing, let's go inside."

Simon and Germany were sitting close together on the couch, heads together, deep in conversation. They looked up when their hosts entered. "Everything okay?" Germany said.

Emily nodded. "You won't have to shoot her in the bathroom like Glenn Close. They'll get her back on her meds. She'll be charged. Pointing a gun at someone and threatening to shoot them isn't something you can just shrug off. I'm guessing that once her mental state stabilizes, you won't have any more trouble with her."

"A reassessment of your security system wouldn't be the worst idea," Spencer said.

"I've already made that call," Simon said.

"You guys were amazing," Germany said, looking up at them with awe. "I mean, seriously."

"Second," Simon said. "How did you know she had a gun?" he asked Spencer.

"By the way she was holding her bag, and her body language."

"Huh." Simon sounded impressed.

"I've never seen you be all FBI Agent Prentiss before, Truff. It was killer."

"Oh, you think that was impressive? Last week she body-checked a fleeing suspect into a brick wall. It was a thing of beauty," Spencer said. She elbowed him in the ribs.

"And you, Dr. Reid," Germany said, grinning at him. "You're damn hot with a gun in your hand, looking all fierce. Pretty fast with that thing, too."

"I'm a lousy shot, though."

"Oh ho, don't you believe him," Emily said. "He claims to be lousy but always manages to make perfect shots when it matters. I think he's hustling us."

Their laughter relieved the lingering tension. "Well, we ought to get out of your hair," Germany said. "I think we've been enough trouble to our friends for one weekend, don't you, Simon?"

"More than enough. I'm so sorry to have brought all this into your house, Emily."

"We're just glad we could help." She looked from one to the other. "Are you guys...okay?"

Germany sighed. "We will be. We have some long talks ahead of us. But we had a woman pointing a gun at us today. We'll make it through."

* * *

Once Germany had gathered her things and she and Simon left with hugs and promises to call soon, Emily felt nothing more than the siren call of her bathtub. "I am going to take a long soak," she said, stretching her arms over her head. Spencer was on his laptop at the kitchen island; she poured a glass of wine to take upstairs with her.

He glanced up at her. "Want some company?"

She sighed. "Not tonight. I'll want some when I get out, though."

"Okay."

She kissed his temple as she passed by on her way to the stairs, her mind already anticipating the hot, bubbly water and the massage of the whirlpool jets. _Bless him for this renovation,_ she thought as she started the tub filling.

After an hour's soak, Emily quickly showered off and put on her robe. She padded downstairs and found her husband in the den, stretched out on the chaise lounge. He had Keith Olbermann on the TV but the sound was turned way down. A book was open on his lap but he wasn't reading it. She lingered in the doorway, looking down at the back of his head; she could tell by the way it was canted that he was deep in thought. She was pretty sure she could guess the topic. It was the same one that had sent her into the tub by herself.

She came around the side of the chaise and put her hand on his shoulder. He jerked a little and looked up at her. "Oh, hi."

"What are you doing?"

"Just thinking." He held her gaze for a minute, then beckoned her in with a little jerk of his chin, holding out one arm. Emily sat on the chaise and slipped in beside him, stretching out along his side, slipping her leg between his and tucking her head into the crook of his shoulder. His arms wrapped around her and he sighed as they settled in.

They didn't speak for a long time. His fingers combed idly through her damp hair. She slipped her hand under the hem of his shirt and rested it on the warm skin of his stomach.

"They would be pretty amazing, wouldn't they?" he finally said, his voice subdued.

"Our kids?"

"Yeah."

"Damn right, they would."

He sighed. "You know what it is that scares me."

"I know what you think it is."

"It's the schizophrenia. My genes."

"Your genes are fantastic. And that's not what really scares you. You're afraid of not being good enough."

"Of course I am."

"So am I. So is everyone who even thinks about this. The schizophrenia...it's an excuse."

"It's a legitimate concern."

"Then let's deal with it. Let's find a geneticist who can assess our real risk. That's not the only risk to worry about, you know. My age could end up being a greater risk than your family history."

"A geneticist. That's not a bad idea."

"You want do to that?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. We'll do that." She squeezed him. "I'm just glad we're talking about it."

"They didn't. Germany and Simon. And look what happened."

"I know. That's all I could think about while I was in the bath. If they'd only talked about it, he might never have slept with that woman in the first place. We have to be able to talk. Always. No matter what it's about, no matter how awful it is."

"We will. I promise."

Emily yawned. "Oh, man. What happened to our weekend?"

"I know. Tell Germany next time she has a crisis that she should go to Kate's house."

She chuckled. "I'll pass that along." She sat up. He smiled up at her, his hair mussed. Emily ran a hand down his face. "I'm going to bed. Are you coming?"

"Absolutely."

She rose and pulled him up, clicking off the TV with the remote. They headed for the stairs and their bedroom, ready to put the day behind them so they could face another in the morning.

CASE CLOSED

* * *

_In the works from the pen (keyboard) of MadLori:_

_**Somewhere, It Hides a Well**__ -- Mid-length multi-chapter story taking place several months after the events of "How to Fight Loneliness." Morgan must deal with accusations of misconduct when an UNSUB the team put away during his stint as unit chief recants his confession; meanwhile, Reid and Prentiss deal with potentially crushing news that could change their lives and their marriage forever._

_**Genius at Work**__ -- Long multi-chapter story taking place during the events of "How to Fight Loneliness." The flashbacks in that story to the evolution of Reid and Prentiss's romance were all from Emily's point of view. "Genius at Work" retells and expands on those events, from Reid's perspective._

__

Casefiles:

_**Mr. Prentiss & Mrs. Genius and the Mysterious Manuscript**__ -- In which our intrepid profilers travel to Yale for Spencer's anniversary present. What will he find when he finally examines the notorious Voynich Manuscript?_

_**Mr. Prentiss & Mrs. Genius and the Legendary Letter**__ -- Our dynamic duo take on separate cases as Mr. Prentiss travels to London to consult on a newly-discovered Ripper letter, while Mrs. Genius consults on a custodial interrogation in Chicago. During their daily webcam chats, they talk about everything -- except the fact that they're both dealing with romantic interest from persistent local detectives._

_**Mr. Prentiss & Mrs. Genius and the Reluctant Relative**__ -- Sometimes our savvy twosome don't happen upon trouble -- sometimes it walks right into their backyard and says howdy, in the form of a family member neither of them particularly wanted to see again._


	4. Case 2:The Mysterious Manuscript, 1 of 4

**Casefile #2: The Mysterious Manuscript**

_temporal note: This story takes place about six weeks after the end of "How to Fight Loneliness."_

_Please note the rating change to M._

_

* * *

_

People get images in their minds when thinking of New Haven, Connecticut, home of Yale University. They imagine graceful ivy-covered buildings, tweed-suited academics, gardens and libraries, society and culture. All this was true of Yale itself. None of it was true of New Haven. In fact, New Haven was kind of a hole. Emily had spent four years here, and the students of Yale referred to New Haven as "Gotham City." If only they had a Batman to clean up the place. You stayed on campus and its immediate environs if you could possibly help it.

Emily had booked a room for them at the Omni Hotel just off campus, the nicest hotel in town, although it was a little threadbare and in any other city would never have come close to meriting the distinction. They'd flown into New York and taken Metro North into New Haven, getting a cab from the station, so she was more than a little travel-weary by the time they got to the hotel around nine. She went to the reception desk and got their key, leaving Reid with the bags. He wasn't travel-weary. Oh, no. He was so excited he could hardly stand still, because the next day he'd get to actually clap eyeballs to his long-studied object of fascination, the Voynich Manuscript.

"I need a shower," she muttered as they headed for the elevators. "You want to get some dinner?"

"Let's get room service, I want to get all my notes together."

She smiled, shaking her head a little. This was what she got, marrying a nerd. Once inside the room he immediately set up his laptop and started unloading papers and notes. Emily got undressed and into the shower, the hot water easing the travel-stress out of her. She took her time, taking advantage of the inexhaustible supply of hotel hot water, and didn't come out until she was nice and wrinkly. She stayed in the steamy bathroom and put on lotion; her skin got so dry in cold weather. She dried her hair and wrapped up in the hotel bathrobe.

She expected to find Reid hard at work when she emerged, his head bent over his notes and printouts and his computer, barely having noticed she'd disappeared for forty-five minutes. What she found was the lights in the room dimmed and the small table in their room set with lit candles and flowers. A bottle of champagne was sitting in a bucket of ice, and a room-service cart sat nearby. Reid was sitting in one of the chairs. He stood up when she came into the room. "What on earth's all this?" she said, grinning. Someone had been a busy little beaver while she was in the shower.

He picked up a rose from her plate and came over to her. "I'm probably going to be very distracted for the rest of the weekend, so I decided to put away anything manuscript-related for tonight and have a romantic evening with my amazing wife." He handed her the rose.

"Aw, honey," she said, feeling a little verklempt.

He pulled her close and put his arms around her waist. "Thank you for this. And for coming along. It means a lot to me that you wanted to share this, even though I know you don't really care about the manuscript."

"I do care about it. It's fascinating. Don't know that I'd want to spend two days with it, though, which is why I will be leaving you to your study and occupying myself elsewhere while you're in the library."

He grinned. "Maybe that's for the best. You know how I get."

"Yes, I do." He pulled her close and kissed her, a deep slow kiss that made her bare toes curl into the rug. He drew back, giving her that sly smile that he saved only for her. "Maybe we should skip dinner," she murmured.

"Nope. Anticipation makes it better, right?"

She pouted. "I suppose." They sat down at the table to eat. Reid managed to pop the cork without spilling everywhere and they clinked glasses. Emily got a bit of a surprise when he opened up the domes on the room-service tray. She'd been expecting something extravagant and rich, but instead she found... "Sandwiches?" she said, laughing.

"You don't like to eat big meals this late," he said, handing her a plate. Emily gazed across at him, smiling. "What?" he said.

"You actually think about what I want. That is way sexier than fancy chocolate."

He grinned. "Thank you, but if you think there isn't chocolate, then you can't possibly believe that I think about what you want." He lifted up another dome to reveal a rich-looking piece of chocolate cheesecake.

"Oh, you are getting laid so hard tonight," Emily said, taking a bite of her sandwich. He didn't say anything. "Spencer, are you _blushing?_"

"No!"

"You are. I can't believe you are still capable of blushing in front of me." She stood up. "Come on."

"Where?"

"Screw the chocolate. I'd rather have you."

"But...we're not done eating."

Emily untied her robe and let it fall, then walked over to his chair and stood over him, naked. "Still hungry?"

He shook his head dumbly, his mouth opening and closing. He practically knocked over the chair getting to his feet and swept her up against him, crushing his mouth to hers. It was unexpectedly erotic to be nude and pressed up against him when he was fully clothed. She made a note of that for later use.

Emily was no blushing virgin in bed but she had to admit, it turned her on when he took charge. He was so deferential and easygoing in his daily life that she knew it would probably surprise their teammates to learn that he could be forceful and fiery when he felt secure enough to let that side of himself out to play. It was only with her that he felt secure enough, though, so she was the only one who got to see it.

He broke off the kiss and stared down at her, his hands moving restlessly on her back. "Tell me what you want," he said, his voice low and rough.

"You. Hard."

He walked her back to the large, plush bed, put his hands on her waist and tossed her onto it. She leaned back, one foot braced on the mattress, consciously showing herself off as he made quick work of shedding his clothes and joined her. He pushed her further back and kissed his way down her stomach, then spread her thighs with his hands and went to work. "Oh, _God_," she groaned, her hand tangling in his hair, managing only that exclamation before she was reduced to nonverbal moans and gasps. She came like a sonic boom, and fast. Damn, he could always get her off like this.

Before she'd even come down he was up and over her, then inside her. She tasted herself on his lips as they exchanged frantic, heated kisses. She got what she'd asked for: him, hard. Sometimes that was what she wanted. Rough and manic and haphazard, having at each other with mad abandon, going primal and rutting with him because damn, he got her hot. It was clear why he'd gotten her off first; he must have been on the edge himself and knew he wouldn't be able to last long. She was surprised to feel herself getting there again; normally it'd take longer, but she wasn't complaining. "Come on, baby," he said into her ear. "Come for me again."

All he ever had to do was call her 'baby,' a rare occurrence but all the more potent for its infrequency. The words pushed her over the edge and she shuddered around him, clenching her whole body and crying out. He thrust a few more times then buried himself in her and came too, pressing his face into the crook of her shoulder, a grunt sneaking out through his teeth.

They stayed like that, panting, for a moment, then he rolled away and they lay there side by side, waiting for their brains to come back online. Emily curled on her side and put her hand on his chest, feeling his heart thudding away inside his ribcage.

He turned his head to look at her. "Is it crude to say that I really love having sex with you?"

She grinned. "No."

"I mean, I don't want to be objectifying you or anything."

"Why not?"

"Uh...isn't that a bad thing?"

"Not always. Everybody wants to feel like a sex object sometimes. Like during sex, for example. Doesn't it make you feel good when I can't help myself and I just grab you because all I want is to screw your brains out?"

"Well, sure, but..."

"It's only bad if that's all I am to you."

"It's not!" he exclaimed, looking horrified.

"I know that," she said, laughing. "Which is is why it's okay. I like being your sex object sometimes," she purred, sliding closer and kissing his neck. "And I think you like being mine."

"Oh, I like it, all right. But can I like it in, say, half an hour? I need fluids."

"We can pass the time by eating that cheesecake. No way I'm letting good chocolate go to waste."

* * *

The next morning was blustery and chilly. He was fidgeting and bouncing like a little boy while they ate breakfast at the hotel. As soon as it was a reasonable hour to leave, they headed out the door and walked the few blocks to campus, hand in hand. "My old stomping grounds," she said, looking around at the familiar Gothic buildings and lawns.

"It's so...collegiate," Reid said. "Cal Tech is a lot more modern."

"I suppose the Ivy Leagues are a more traditional college experience."

"I wouldn't have had a traditional college experience no matter where I went." He was looking around as they walked to central campus, where the library was. "Where did you live when you went here?"

"You can't see it from here. Yale has residential colleges, thirteen of them. I was in Timothy Dwight. It's over there," she said, gesturing vaguely.

"I'd like to see where you lived."

"We're not here for me, we're here for you. I'll give you the special Prentiss tour when we come up for my class reunion next summer."

They came into the plaza where the Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library sat. It was a jarringly modern building, a rectangle with no windows but walls made of interlocking cells covered in thin sheets of marble. Light leaked through the stone and gave the interior an otherworldly glow while protecting the valuable books inside from sunlight. They entered, Reid with his visiting researcher's pass in his hand. Stacks five stories high, encased in glass and environmentally controlled, rose in the center of the space.

They drifted over to a large glass case containing a very old book. Emily bent over it. "Hey, is this..."

"It's a Gutenberg Bible. Of the estimated one hundred eighty that were printed, only forty-seven are known to survive, and only twenty-one of them are complete. This is one of the complete ones."

"Wow," Emily said. She was more an art fan than a history buff, but it was affecting to be so close to such a significant volume.

"Actually, there's a rarer copy than this at home. Of those forty-seven surviving copies, thirty-five are on paper, including this one. The remaining twelve are on vellum. Only four of those are complete. The Library of Congress has one of the four complete vellum copies. Ironically, the Vatican doesn't own a single complete copy. Most of the bibles are in museums or libraries like this one."

A woman in what could only be described as librarian-esque clothing approached them. "Dr. Reid?" she said.

"Yes," he said, looking surprised.

"I'm Rosemary Battelle, I'm one of the archivists here, I've been expecting you."

"Nice to meet you," he said, shaking her hand. "This is my wife, Emily Prentiss."

"Of course," Rosemary said, shaking with Emily. "You're Elizabeth Prentiss's daughter." If the woman resented the familial string-pulling to obtain Reid's access, she gave no sign. "Well, Dr. Reid, why don't I show you where you'll be working, and I'll fetch the manuscript for you."

He turned and looked at Emily. "I guess..." He trailed off.

She smiled. "I'll come back for you at five."

He nodded, then bent and kissed her. "Thank you," he said into her ear. Emily squeezed his hand and watched him head off with Rosemary Battelle, his gaze wandering all around the library's holdings. She was pretty pleased with herself for this gift, truth be told. There was something satisfying about giving someone you loved something they really wanted when there was no part of it that would benefit you.

That wasn't precisely true, either. She did get some benefit. She enjoyed seeing him excited and happy, and it made her feel good to fulfill one of his lifelong wishes. Not to mention the corollary benefit of the sex she'd likely be enjoying while they were here, courtesy of a Reid who was invigorated and enthusiastic about his project, which tended to spill over into other areas.

Good thing she had that warm fuzzy feeling of satisfaction to sustain her, because now she had to kill two entire days in New Haven, Connecticut.

* * *

Reid followed Rosemary Battelle down some stairs into what was clearly an area for authorized personnel only. Nervous, he clipped the pass Emily had given him onto his belt. He wasn't wearing his gun; it was in his bag. He had to have it with him, but for some reason it always felt wrong to be armed around books. Rosemary led him to a room with subdued lighting, empty but for a table in the center. She handed him a pair of white gloves. "You'll need to wear these while you handle the volume," she said.

Reid nodded. "I'm aware of archival procedures."

"That doesn't surprise me," she said. "Now, the Voynich is quite large and it's divided into sections."

"I understand."

"All right. Have a seat, I'll be right back." She left the room. Reid hung his bag over the back of the chair and sat down, a little thrill of excitement fluttering in his stomach.

On the way up here, Emily had asked him again why it was important to examine the volume itself when he could easily view one of the facsimiles that had been produced, or the high-res images of each page that were available online. What could he tell from the actual manuscript that he could not from the scans? He'd been hard-pressed to come up with an answer to that and had admitted as much. "I'm not sure," he'd said. "It's just different seeing it in reality. It's not that I want to see it so that I can somehow figure it out. It's more that I want to study it in person because I've studied it for so long from afar that the real thing has taken on a kind of talismanic quality. It's like spending your life watching ballet on PBS. You can certainly see the dance just as well as you can live, maybe even better. But at some point you have to go to a live performance because that's the truth of the thing. That's how it was meant to be seen."

Rosemary came back into the research room carrying a large plexiglass box, long and flat. Inside was the Voynich Manuscript. Reid stood up and helped her place it on the table. The box folded out so that the manuscript could be examined without removing it from the box. Reid reached out with a gloved hand and touched it, then carefully opened it, using his other hand to support the binding. "Oh, boy," he breathed. The vellum of the pages was stiff and felt sturdy. The ink was dark, the color on the illustrations vibrant. He looked up at Rosemary, who was watching him with a smile on her face. "You know how long I've waited for this?" he said.

"The curator said that your wife arranged this for you as a gift."

"Yes. For our anniversary."

"I think that's very sweet."

Reid smiled, only half paying attention, most of his mind focused on the manuscript in front of him.

"I'll leave you to it," Rosemary said, and excused herself.

Reid barely heard her go. He sat down at the table, the manuscript spread in front of him, got out his handwritten research plan, and got to work.

* * *

Emily passed the day in blessed peace. She returned to the hotel and got a pedicure at their salon, then went back to their room and took a nap. She woke, showered and put on jeans and a sweater to venture out for a late lunch. Halfway through a Cobb salad she got a text message from Reid. "This is so amazing. 1067." She smiled and texted him back. "I'm glad. 1068." She didn't hear from him again.

After lunch she walked to a coffeeshop down the street, got a latte and settled down in a large comfortable chair with her Kindle. Reid was horrified at the very idea of a Kindle. Such was his love affair with books that the idea of reading them in electronic form was anathema to him. Her arguments that it was no different than an iPod, a technology he'd enthusiastically embraced for storage of his many audiobooks, fell on deaf ears. Lately, though, she suspected he was coming around. Seeing her comfortably reading the slim device while he lugged around heavy, ponderous volumes was testing his resolve. It was probably futile, anyway. He read too fast to make an e-reader practical.

Over the course of the afternoon, JJ called to ask her about a consult she'd done last week. Hotch called to ask about the testimony she was due to give in Boston next week. Her mother called, wanting to make sure everything had gone smoothly at the library. After Garcia called, wanting dish on the romantic evening she was sure the two of them had passed the night before, Emily was sorely tempted to turn off her phone.

The afternoon passed more quickly than she'd have thought. The book she was reading was very good, and the coffeeshop was quiet and restful. Before she knew it, it was quarter to five. She tucked her Kindle into her bag and headed back onto campus.

She expected to find Reid still ensconced in his research, but to her surprise, when she walked into the library he was standing at the desk, waiting for her. Her surprise deepened when she saw that he didn't look excited or rapturous. Instead, he was frowning and looked puzzled. He brightened a little when he saw her. "Oh good, you're here," he said.

She walked up to him. "What's wrong? I thought I'd have to drag you out of here."

He pressed his lips together. "I've asked to speak to the Director. Rosemary is getting him now. I was hoping you'd get here in time to come in with me, I could use another pair of eyes."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's the manuscript." He glanced around, then leaned closer. "There are several pages missing," he said, in a low voice.

"Are you sure?" He gave her a look. "Sorry. Of course you're sure. But what..." She cut herself off when she spotted Rosemary Battelle approaching.

"Dr. Reid, the director said he could see you right away. Follow me."

Reid glanced at her, and they both followed Rosemary past the desk into the office area and back to the largest one. The plate on the door said "Edward Fordham, Ph.D." Rosemary knocked once and opened the door. Fordham came out from behind his desk to greet them. "Dr. Reid," he said, extending his hand.

Reid shook it. "Dr. Fordham."

"It's such a pleasure to meet you. Ambassador Prentiss speaks so highly of you."

"Does she?" Reid said, sounding mildly surprised, one eyebrow going up.

"Thank you for seeing us," Emily said.

"Yes, Rosemary said it was a matter of some urgency. Please sit down," he said, motioning them into the chairs before his desk.

They sat. Reid's manner was all business. "Yes, it is urgent. Dr. Fordham, I'm sure you're aware that I'm extremely familiar with the Voynich Manuscript. The library's description of its condition is very detailed."

"Yes, of course. The Voynich is a one-of-a-kind document, so we've taken every precaution to preserve and document it, its condition and its provenance, or what little of it we know."

"While I was examining it, I discovered that there are several pages missing." Reid let that statement lie there for a moment. Emily watched Fordham's response. "Specifically, three pages from the Biological section, pages which contain some of the most intricate illustrative work of the whole document, invaluable to the whole, and you already know about this, don't you?" It was plain from Fordham's face that he did. "Why wouldn't you have alerted the authorities?"

"Because he doesn't want anyone to know that a theft has occurred at his library, or to think that the other rare volumes here aren't safe. Am I right, Dr. Fordham?" Emily said.

He sighed. "Essentially. Dr. Reid, the authorities aren't going to care about the theft of a few pages from a medieval manuscript."

"Well, they should. Surely you're aware that stolen arts and antiquities are used as currency among terrorists and drug dealers."

"I'm aware," Fordham said, a bit of an edge coming into his voice. "Which is why I want to preserve this library's reputation as a secure facility. I don't want a thief coming after the Gutenberg. That bible is worth at least thirty million dollars. We have not one but two copies of the double elephant folio of Audubon's 'Birds of America' which are each worth eight million dollars. The Vinland Map is worth twenty-five million. And that's just the beginning. We have the Elizabethan Club's entire collection of Shakespeare volumes and folios, many of which are extremely rare, in our vault."

"And the status of this library depends on its holdings, and if questions about security were to arise, some of these priceless works might be moved elsewhere or removed from display," Emily said. "Not to mention that news of a theft would play hell with your insurance premiums."

"That's not the only reason," Reid said. "You think it was an inside job, don't you? It's the simplest, most logical explanation."

Fordham sighed. "With our security precautions, it's difficult to imagine an outsider being able to get access to the Voynich."

"How long have the pages been missing?" he asked. Fordham hesitated. "Dr. Fordham, if you want our help, you need to tell us the truth."

"What makes you think I want your help, Dr. Reid?"

"You said earlier that Ambassador Prentiss has spoken about me to you. She probably told you that I have an eidetic memory, right?" Fordham nodded. "Which makes me wonder why you'd allow me to examine the manuscript, knowing how familiar I am with it, knowing that I have every image on every page committed to memory. Surely you knew that I'd notice the missing pages. You must have seen the opportunity to get the FBI's help, off the record. If you really wanted to keep this theft secret, you wouldn't have let me see the manuscript."

Fordham looked a little embarrassed. "Okay, it's a little transparent. I just hoped there was a way we could discover the thief, and even recover the pages, without official police involvement."

"We're on vacation, Dr. Fordham," Emily said. "What we do on this time is our own business. If we want to help you with this, no one has to know. But you should be aware that this isn't our jurisdiction, and if you want to press any charges you will have to involve the police. We could only help you as private citizens, and we can't use our status as FBI agents."

"I understand," Fordham said.

She looked over at Reid and saw that they were in agreement. He nodded. "We'll help you," she said.

Fordham breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you. I hoped – well, I'm relieved. What do you need from me?"

"An answer to my earlier question, first of all. How long have the pages been missing?"

"The theft was discovered six months ago. Rosemary Battelle, who you've met, discovered the pages were missing. But the manuscript is kept locked away, so who knows when the actual act took place. It couldn't have been more than a year ago, that's the last time the volumes were examined."

"How many people have access to the manuscript?"

"About twenty. Myself, the two assistant directors, the curators, the archivists."

"We'll need a list of all the people who had access at the time the theft occurred, sometime between one year and six months ago. Has anyone left or been fired since then?"

"No, it's the same people now as it was then."

"What's the surveillance like on the vaults where the manuscript is kept?"

"There are security cameras at the entrances, but none inside the vaults. We'd only be able to see who was going in and out, and our staff go in and out of there hundreds of times a week for legitimate reasons. Without a time frame, it'd be impossible to tell who was going in to access the manuscript."

Reid handed Fordham his business card. "Email the staff list to that address. Can you call a staff meeting for tomorrow and get everyone on this list there?"

"Yes, absolutely."

"Make sure it's more than just these people at the meeting," Emily said. "Make it more general. We don't want anyone to be suspicious."

"And you'll be conducting this meeting?"

"Nope, you will," she said. "We're not going to say a word. You can talk about whatever you like."

"Anything but the theft," Reid said.

"You don't want me to talk about the theft?" Fordham said, sounding confused.

"No. Talk about schedules or exhibitions or dress codes or whatever else you like. Nothing about the Voynich. Make it seem like a normal meeting."

"It'll seem strange that I'm calling it on such short notice," Fordham said. "I'll think of something." He looked back and forth between them. "And what are you going to do?"

Reid smiled. "We're going to watch."


	5. Case 2:The Mysterious Manuscript, 2 of 4

**Casefile #2: The Mysterious Manuscript**

_temporal note: This story takes place about six weeks after the end of "How to Fight Loneliness."_

_

* * *

_

"Well?" Emily said, after the waiter brought their wine.

"Well, what?"

"I've been waiting and waiting to hear about your day!" she exclaimed. Reid just smiled that little smug smile at her, his eyes twinkling. "You've only been wanting this your whole life, aren't you going to tell me what it was like?"

He leaned forward and held out his hand on the table. She took it in her own. "It was amazing," he said, grinning. "Just to see the ink and smell the vellum – looking at scans or copies doesn't compare."

"Did you see anything new, anything different?"

"I did, actually. You know, there's a theory that the manuscript is an example of micrography, which is when the scribe uses miniscule little letter forms to make up the forms of larger letters, so you can only read the tiny letters under magnification."

Emily's jaw dropped. "That sounds insane."

"I know, right? I brought the strongest hand-held magnifier I could find and looked at the letters closeup. I could see what this guy saw. The big letters did have forms within them, a little bit broken up, that might possibly be seen as letters themselves, but the more I looked, the more I realized that it was just the way the ink was cracking on the vellum. No meaning." He paused, looking off into the middle distance. "Seeing the real volume was amazing. It's so large, so ponderous. It's such a piece of work, literally. I was never sure before, but now I am. It isn't a hoax. It has meaning. No one would go to that much trouble for a hoax. Other hoaxes of the time are so much cruder, so easy to identify as being hoaxes. This thing – it's standing up to even modern codebreaking techniques. Touching it, seeing the hand of the author in the brushstrokes, it was like I could see into his mind a little bit. I could see him illuminating the text with all those crazy pictures, forming the letters, sometimes running out of room. He wasn't working from a draft copy, like you would if you were coding. I think this was some language that he spoke, in his head. Some writing system he invented himself that only had meaning to him. I don't know why, but I felt like I could see him right through the page." He looked up at her again, his face full of wonder and excitement. "Whoever wrote that manuscript, I think I got to know him a little bit today."

Emily squeezed his hand. This was why she'd done this for him, much as she hated asking her mother for favors. So she could see this look on his face. "Sounds like it was worth the trip," she said.

He nodded. "Best gift I ever got, too."

"I guess I better start thinking about how I'm going to top it for our second anniversary."

Their food came, and for a few minutes they ate in silence. "I found a geneticist," Reid finally said.

Emily paused mid-chew, then swallowed. "Oh yeah?" she said, carefully. The subject had been broached of them seeing a geneticist who could work up family histories for them and assess their real risk of having a child with schizophrenia. Reid's fears would be best allayed by the voice of science, so that seemed like the way to address the situation. Emily had assumed she'd have to be the one to dig somebody up and make the appointment. Hearing that he'd taken the initiative and done it himself – well, she resisted the impulse to put her hands on her stomach to push down the butterflies that had taken up residence.

"Mmm-hmm. I used the Cal Tech Geek Network. Got a recommendation for a doctor in Bethesda who specializes in...how'd Robbie put it? Pre-conception genetic risk assessment. Which is what we need, right?"

She nodded. "Right." She just stared at him, her fork forgotten in her hand, as he ate his chicken carbonara.

He looked up at her. "So I'll call and make an appointment?"

"Okay." He nodded and returned to the carbonara. Emily blinked, her eyes misting over. "Spencer," she murmured, not sure what she meant to say.

He looked up again and saw the look on her face. He smiled gently. "I love you, Emily."

She shook her head. "Don't do it for me."

"I'm not doing anything yet. Just making an appointment."

She nodded. "Okay."

They finished their dinner quietly, exchanging a few words about ordinary things: the latest repair required on Reid's car, Emily's cousin Hobart's totally foreseeable divorce, whether or not they could afford to build a two-car garage behind the house. The bill paid, they walked back toward the hotel. Reid reached out and laced their fingers together. Emily moved closer to his side and reached across her body to hold onto his arm with her other hand.

"It means a lot to me that you're being serious about considering it," she said, picking up the thread of a conversation dropped an hour ago.

He sighed. "I owe you that."

"No. That can't be the reason. I can't be responsible for your decision here. If it happens, it has to be because you want it for yourself and for us, not because you want it for me."

"I know. But I can't separate myself from my desire to make you happy. That's just always there in everything I do and everything I feel." He hesitated. "I wondered if I should tell you about the geneticist. I worried I was being cruel."

"Cruel?"

"Maybe I shouldn't say anything until I'm really sure how I feel. What if I go through all this thinking and investigating and consulting and the answer is still no? What if I still can't do it, what if I don't want it?"

"Then we'll be right where we were before, and I will know you cared enough to give that decision all the thought and weight that it deserves."

"I don't want to get your hopes up if I'm only going to disappoint you."

"You couldn't disappoint me as long as you're honest with me."

"Anyway, there's no way I can do this by myself. This decision can't be made in a vacuum. What you think and how you feel _is_ part of it." He went quiet for a moment. "I'll tell you one thing I've figured out."

"What?"

"I never thought I had the stuff to be a dad. I wasn't that kind of man. But I have to consider that you think I'd be a good father."

"I think you'd be a great father."

He stopped them on the sidewalk and turned her toward him. "I trust your judgment about everything else, so why wouldn't I trust it on this? Am I being irrational? People are hardest on themselves. Maybe I can't trust my own opinion of myself. This isn't easy for me. It's like there are things I've always believed about myself and no one ever questioned it, and now people are telling me that maybe none of it is true."

Emily nodded. "The things we believe about ourselves are often untrue."

* * *

He kept hold of her hand as they crossed the hotel lobby, headed for the elevator. As the doors closed, she released his fingers and slid her arm around him underneath his coat. Her hand stroked back and forth across the small of his back as they rode up to their floor.

Reid wondered how long it would take before he stopped feeling that little shiver when she touched him. When would it become normal and expected? When would he stop being, in some corner of his mind, surprised that she was initiating physical contact with his scrawny self? It had been over two years since that first incredible night they'd spent together. Since then, they'd had sex five hundred and thirty-two times (depending on how one defined 'sex' – he was inclined toward an all-inclusive definition), and he was still amazed that she wanted him. That he wanted her required no suspension of disbelief. Sometimes it was a conscious effort on his part not to stare at her chest during briefings. That had always been a conscious effort since he'd known her, but somehow it was worse now that he knew that later he could actually _touch_ her breasts. In fact, she'd get mad if he didn't.

Her hand was warm on his back through his shirt. He glanced down at her; her eyes were downcast, a tiny little smile curling her lips. He knew that smile. It was the _I'm plotting how best to jump your bones_ smile. He tried not to look too smug as the elevator doors opened on their floor.

_I think I'd like to beat her to the punch,_ he thought. He got out their room key as they approached the door. He unlocked it, pushed it partway open, then turned around and captured her mouth in a soft, unhurried kiss. He snaked one arm around her waist and pulled her tight to him. A flinch of surprise ran through her but she quickly relaxed into it and kissed him back, hooking her fingers in his beltloops. He backed through the door and into the room, pulling her with him. She reached back blindly and shut the security bar and they shuffled along, her hands running up his sides, around his back and down to grab his ass.

They pushed each other's coats off, toeing off their shoes and scrambling at their own clothes and each other's. "Too many layers," Emily grumbled, working on the buttons to his shirt once she'd gotten his sweater-vest off. She'd only been wearing a turtleneck, so he was already getting her bra off. "Nope, sorry," she said, pushing his hands away. She steered him backwards until he hit the bed, then pressed on his shoulders until he sat down. "First things first." She knelt between his legs and opened his fly. Reid let out a strangled groan as she bent and took him in her mouth. His eyes wanted to close but he needed to _see;_ for him, the sight of her doing this to him was more than half the pleasure. His other hand moved restlessly over her shoulders and down her back, as far as he could reach, which wasn't very far.

"Emily," he murmured. "Please, let me touch you."

She looked up at him, her eyes dark and her cheeks flushed. Her lips were a little swollen and her hair was mussed. She looked like the embodiment of every sexy thought he'd ever had in his life. "I want to get you off first," she said. "So shush." She bent her head to his lap again, and he was beyond arguing. He threaded his fingers through her hair and massaged the back of her neck. She knew just how he liked this, oh yes, she did, and she was using it. All he could do was sit there and hang on while she drove him like a sports car, finessing him around the curves, tromping on the gas on the straightaways. Her hair kept falling around her face; he'd reach down and tuck it back again every time so he could see her.

He remembered the first time she'd given him head. It had been that first weekend they'd spent together, their first date which had begun on a Friday night at Hilda's restaurant and just kept going until he'd finally gone home on Sunday afternoon. Saturday night they'd stayed in and watched "Rebecca" on TV, which had turned into making out on the couch, which had driven them back upstairs into her bed. Sliding naked between the sheets together, she'd lowered her head towards his cock, but he'd stopped her.

"You don't have to," he'd said.

She'd frowned at him. "Why wouldn't I want to? Especially after what you did for me earlier in the kitchen," she'd said, waggling her eyebrows at him.

"I thought women mostly didn't like doing that."

"Hmm. Well, I do like it, and even if I didn't, _you'll_ like it, and part of a good sex life is doing for your partner sometimes. As you've already shown that you do. So shut up, Dr. Reid, lie back and enjoy it."

He had. And had made sure to give it back to her with interest when it was his turn. And so they had always been with each other, and so he hoped they could always be. But memories of his first oral sex from her were only a blip across his mind at the moment, because his attention was taken up by what she was doing to him _now,_ which was quickly bringing him to the point of no return. "Em…I'm close…I'm…I'm gonna…" That was as far as he got. His fingers spasmed on her shoulder and in her hair and he lost it. He felt her fingers twine with his and she stroked his thigh as he gasped and shuddered. He reached down and hauled her up into his arms, throwing her down onto the bed at his side and kissing her deeply, tasting himself and not caring. What remained of their clothing was quickly shed.

Emily reached out for him when they'd finally managed to get each other naked. Her hand slid between his legs; he was already hard again. "Oh, the perks of marrying a younger man," she purred.

* * *

After having at each other for half an hour or so, Emily and Reid put on pajamas and got out their laptops. They divided up the list from Fordham of people at the library with keycard access to the Voynich Manuscript and started doing some quick background checks and financials on them. Around nine o'clock, Emily started feeling peckish. "I could really go for some Cherry Garcia right now," she sighed, wistfully. Reid didn't appear to have heard her. A few minutes later he got up off the bed, where they'd both been sprawled with their computers. He put his shoes on and then his coat over the top of his flannel pants and cardigan. "Where are you going?" she said, frowning.

"Just going out."

"Now? Where?"

"I'll be right back." He took the room key and left.

Emily shrugged, having long ago given up questioning Reid's more-than-occasionally odd behavior. When he came back twenty minutes later, he was carrying a cardboard carrier with two large Starbucks cups in it and a brown paper bag. He dropped the paper bag into her lap and set the coffees on the night table. She opened the bag to find a pint of Cherry Garcia inside. "You went out to get me ice cream?" she exclaimed.

"There's a grocery store a few blocks away. You said you wanted some."

"So you just…went out and got it? In your pajamas?"

"I'm decently, if casually, dressed."

She smiled. "Hoping to get laid again?"

He smirked back at her. "It isn't out of the question, I hope."

"Certainly not." She was making light, but honestly, she was touched. He wasn't stingy with his words or gestures, but sometimes it was in the little things he did for her, like this, that she felt his love the most strongly.

He resumed his spot on the bed, sitting cross-legged across from her. "So, what do we have? Who are we watching tomorrow? I've got two persons of interest."

"Same here. You go first."

"All right. The first is Chase Gregory. He's one of the curators. Educated at Northwestern, Master's degree in historical preservation and medieval literature. His employment history is a bit – weird. He's had eight jobs in fifteen years, way above the average for someone in this field. And it's always the same. He gets a job, and within six months he's promoted. Not just promoted, promoted advantageously, often leapfrogging over several levels and bypassing more qualified candidates. Then he leaves after a year. I don't get it."

Emily snorted. "That's because you are innocent and pure."

His eyebrows went up. "That's not what you said last week, when I had your legs up over the…"

"Yeah, I remember," she said, cutting him off with a grin. "Gregory sounds like he's sleeping his way to the top. Building references and experience and collecting markers. You don't know politics like I do."

"But his bosses have been both men and woman."

"So he's an equal-opportunity slut. How long has he been at the Beinecke?"

"Three years. No promotions."

"Sounds like he hasn't gotten what he wanted from Dr. Fordham."

"Who is gay, for the record."

"Duh. He had a photo of himself and his partner in his office."

"That's not how I know."

"How do you know?"

"He didn't look at your chest once while we were talking to him. No straight man possesses enough willpower to resist even one glance at the most perfect breasts on the East Coast."

Emily blushed a little. "All right, so we watch Mr. Gregory. What else you got?"

"Well, Rosemary Battelle discovered the theft."

"That only means she almost certainly didn't steal the pages."

"I know, but she hasn't told anyone about it. Her file shows her to be very responsible and dedicated to her field. It must be troubling her conscience not to disclose this theft. So she's keeping silent either because she's trying to help Dr. Fordham, or she's afraid of him. Just something to consider. What do you have?"

"I've got Cynthia Mershon, assistant director. Ms. Mershon has taken three afternoons off in the last month for doctor's appointments."

"Is she ill?"

"Wait for it. In that same month she's also purchased a new briefcase and several new outfits."

"She's going on interviews."

"Right. But according to this, she's supposedly being promoted next month and three months ago she started a major fundraising initiative that was supposed to last six months."

"So why the sudden desire to leave?"

"Just what I was wondering. In another corner we have Joshua McAllister, post-doctoral student. I'm pretty sure Mr. McAllister has a bad gambling problem. He has significant personal debt and he's been hocking some of his possessions and getting them back, over and over. He'll be flush and then it'll be gone. He's got a pattern of cash withdrawals in the mornings."

"Horses."

"That'd be my guess. Anyway, it's pretty generic but it does give him a financial motive. He'd have easier lifts than the Voynich pages, though."

"Whoever took the pages wanted them specifically. I doubt we're looking for someone who just needed the money. As you said, there are easier things to steal even inside that library. The only reason I can think of that someone might go for the Voynich pages if they just wanted them for their monetary value is that it's so rarely displayed or examined that the theft might not be discovered for a long time. But if money was the motive, why not take more pages? They only took three. It's like…" He broke off, and Emily recognized that expression he got when something became clear to him. "It's like a token theft," he muttered. "Taking something just to prove you can."

"Those pages do have significant economic value, though."

"They do. But if three pages has value, four pages has more and five pages has even more. So what are some reasons someone might take three pages as a demonstration?"

"As a threat? I took three pages, I could take more? Or take something else that's more valuable?"

"To prove a point about the security procedures, maybe. Or as leverage. Do as I say or these pages get tossed into the nearest fireplace."

"Or I expose your library as vulnerable to the world and watch your holdings dwindle and your reputation get dragged through the mud."

Reid nodded. "Huh. That's interesting." He sighed. "It's counterproductive to speculate too much before we've had so much as a look at these people. It could bias us. As Sherlock Holmes says, we must twist theories to suit facts…"

"…and not facts to suit theories, yes, Reid, I know." She smiled.

"Oh. I guess I do say that now and then, don't I?"

"Now and then." She shut down her laptop and put it in her bag. "Right now there's Cherry Garcia and I'm tired. I want to cuddle with my sexy boyfriend, eat ice cream and mock a 'CSI' rerun on TV."

"Is there a 'CSI' rerun on TV?"

"If there is one immutable law of the universe, it is that there is _always_ a 'CSI' rerun on TV."

* * *

Emily shifted in the bed, her eyes fluttering open. Was it morning already? It couldn't be. After some ice-cream-and-CSI time, they'd gotten naked again but hadn't made it all the way to sex, had just kissed and groped each other for awhile before drifting off to sleep, but now – had the alarm gone off? It wasn't light out, just dim.

The bed felt – different. She'd gone to sleep in a soft, cushy hotel bed but this was definitely not that. She blinked and looked around. A cinderblock wall was in front of her eyes.

She sat up, her heart thudding in her chest. She was back _there._ In this little cell. Two cots, and her wrist chained to the wall. She looked down at her hand.

_Oh God, no. Please, no._

Reid's wedding ring was on her thumb. She clutched her hands together and bent over herself, breathing hard.

_It was all a dream. I never got free. He never came for me. He can't ever come for me because he's dead. Really dead. I dreamed he was alive. I dreamed that we lived happily ever after. I dreamed that we went to my mother's cabin in the Poconos, I dreamed that we had a bounce house at our anniversary party. We never had a party. We'll never have another party._

This was her life now. This was her reality, much as her mind would try to escape it.

It was too much for her.

She sagged against the wall, crying out in anguish. She hit her fists against the cinderblocks, feeling no pain except the pain in her heart, shouting incoherently, shouting at nothing, shouting at the world, shouting at the dream, the wonderful dream where she'd fallen asleep in his arms and knew she'd wake up with him, the dream that wasn't…

"…emily…"

The cinderblocks were going soft, smothering her, falling in around her. "No, Spencer, no," she cried out. "Let me out, let me out…"

"Emily!"

Hands were grasping at her, pulling at her. She struggled, the cell falling away to tatters around her, the room darkening. A pair of wiry arms wound around her and she felt the warmth of another body near her. "No, Spencer," she sobbed.

"Wake up, Em," said his voice in her ear. "You're having a nightmare."

She turned around, disoriented, her hands waving before her like a blind woman's. She touched his face. She couldn't really see him in the dark hotel room. "Wha…how…is he here? Is he coming?"

Hands were holding her face, hands she knew, long-fingered and strong. "Harmon isn't here. You're not in that cell. Everything's okay."

Her chest hitched. _It wasn't a dream._ She clung to him, shaking and breathing hard. He held her tightly, making low, soothing shhh noises in her ear. "Is this real? Am I dreaming?" She had to at least ask.

"You're not dreaming now. This is real."

She felt herself calming, the warmth and comfort of her bare skin against his, the smell of him and his heartbeat against her chest, bringing her further from that half-sleeping disorientation and into reality. He shifted into a cross-legged position, pulling her into his lap. She wrapped herself around him, chest to chest, and shut her eyes tight, willing the lingering horror of the dream to leave her. He ran his hands up and down her back in long, soothing strokes. "You haven't had one of those in awhile," he murmured.

"I know." Emily had suffered a few weeks of nightmares after their Texas ordeal, many of them like this one, in which she found that her escape had never happened and Reid remained dead. In some of them the rest of the team had ended up dead, too. "Sorry. I know that scares the shit out of you."

"Well, it isn't the most relaxing thing to wake up to your wife screaming and hitting the pillows. But mostly I just worry about you."

"I'm okay," she said, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "Just…don't say anything for a little while, okay? Just let me hold you until my brain's gotten the message."

He settled his arms around her and they just sat, Emily's hands testing his reality until she'd satisfied herself that this wasn't a dream, too, not another cruel trick of her brain. Gradually she relaxed, the truth of her life resettling around her like a cloak of protection. She became aware that holding her like this, both of them nude, was having an effect on him. She could feel him hard against her inner thigh. He wasn't instigating anything, though, and she knew that he wouldn't. She drew back and kissed him, slowly sucking his full lower lip between her own. Before he could tell her she didn't have to, she shifted in his lap until he slid into her; he exhaled sharply and she sighed in fulfillment, settling back into his embrace, joined together in quiet comfort. They softly kissed each other's faces, moving in tiny arcs and shifts against each other until he came, silent but for his breath, filling her with his warmth. She drew him down to the bed and settled them together, not needing or even wanting her own climax right now. Just having him here with her, inside her, was all she wanted before she drifted back down into more peaceful sleep.

* * *

_Curious about what Reid did for Emily in the kitchen that first weekend they spent together? Details of that encounter as well as their entire first-date weekend will appear in my upcoming multi-chapter story "Genius at Work."_


	6. Case 2:The Mysterious Manuscript, 3 of 4

**Casefile #2: The Mysterious Manuscript**

_temporal note: This story takes place about six weeks after the end of "How to Fight Loneliness."_

_

* * *

_

**Part 3**

"What did you tell them?" Emily asked Dr. Fordham. They were in the Beinecke's conference room, where in a few minutes most of the permanent staff would be gathered for a rather sudden meeting.

"I said that we'd gotten some very exciting news that couldn't wait."

"And what exciting news will you be inventing?"

"None, actually. I did just get some exciting news, namely that we've been chosen to host an exhibit of rare medieval illuminated manuscripts. I was going to tell everyone tomorrow, but given that the exhibit will require a lot of planning and rearranging, it won't seem all that strange that I wanted to meet immediately."

"Perfect."

Fordham cocked his head, his eyes on Reid, who was slowly perambulating the perimeter of the room, looking at the notices and bulletins and displays on the walls. Across the room was a wide window that looked into the room next door, which was darkened. "What's he doing, if I may ask?"

"He just wants to know the space. We'll be watching the eyes of your staff a great deal, and he'll want to know if they look at anything particular and if it has meaning."

Fordham sighed. "This profiling business is more complex than I imagined."

"It can be. A task like this can be tricky."

"Who shall I tell the staff that you are?"

"Don't tell them anything," Reid said from across the room. Fordham looked a little startled; no doubt he hadn't realized that Reid had been listening to everything they said. "Don't introduce us, don't look at us, don't acknowledge our presence. Let them wonder."

Fordham shook his head. "I don't know what you hope to learn from this."

"Well, we don't know, either," Reid said, walking over to join them. "That's what we're going to find out."

Emily glanced at her watch. "They'll be arriving soon. We better take our places." Reid nodded. They went to the chairs they'd set up against the wall, behind where Fordham would be seated at the head of the table. From here, they could see everyone who'd be seated at the table, and the staff would be able to see them. In fact they wouldn't be able to avoid seeing them. She sat down and crossed her legs. Her job would be to sit and look attentive and slightly authoritarian. Reid's job would be to take copious notes and appear as if he weren't paying attention at all. They'd both studied photos of all the staff, they'd know who was who and what they were looking for.

Fordham had a folder of materials, presumably about the upcoming exhibit. He sat down and started going through it. Emily sat quietly while Reid got out his notebook and a pen.

"Maybe we should get a dog," she murmured, leaning in a little.

He stopped writing, then looked at her with an expression of thinly veiled horror. "A dog?"

"Umm...or not."

"You want to get a dog?"

"I've never had one. I've always wanted one. Haven't you ever wanted a dog?"

"No. I can honestly say that I have never in my life wanted a dog."

"But they're cute and lovable."

"I'm just picturing all the things in our house that are chewable." He narrowed his eyes, peering at her. "Tell me you're not contemplating getting a dog as some sort of dry-run for having a baby, to test out my fitness as a parent."

"No." She thought for a moment. "That isn't a bad idea, though. Not for you, for me. You have experience as a caretaker. I've never had so much as a goldfish. I never even babysat when I was a teenager." She frowned, the truth of what she was saying hitting her all at once. "What if we had a baby and I forgot to feed it, or left it out in the rain or something? What if I end up being one of those parents who goes to work and forgets that the baby is in the car seat and it dies from the heat!"

He gave her a withering look. "You're not serious."

"I'm a little bit serious. What if I suck at it?"

"You've never sucked at anything in your life."

"Oh, let me count the ways in which that is not true. I sucked pretty profoundly at relationships until I met you."

"Technically, until a number of years _after_ you met me, since we didn't have a relationship until we'd already known each other for..."

"Stop it."

"Sorry."

"We should definitely get a dog."

"We are not getting a dog, sweetheart." He only called her that when he was annoyed, which just made her want to needle him some more.

"I think a schnauzer. I will name him Enzo."

"Can we discuss this later?" he said, nodding toward the door. "These people will be coming in any second and our aura of mystery will be spoiled if they overhear us arguing about schnauzers named Enzo."

"That's an awesome name for a schnauzer, though, don't you think?"

Reid heaved a weary sigh. Emily made herself shut up.

The first group of staff members to come into the conference room included Rosemary Battelle. Emily watched her, but Rosemary didn't say anything about them to her two companions as they all took seats. Each one of them glanced at her and Reid with varying levels of curiosity. Fordham greeted them like it was any other day. Reid was scribbling on his legal pad. She knew he was watching, though. He was really good at watching without anyone being able to tell he was watching. Emily made her watching even more obvious than it would normally have been, letting her eyes rest on each person in turn.

Over the next five minutes, a dozen more people filtered into the room, taking seats around the conference table, pulling up extra chairs when there were none left. Emily heard a few people murmur to neighbors, wondering who she and Reid were, but no one had an answer. Rosemary Battelle, interestingly, didn't offer up the fact that their two interlopers were FBI agents.

Dr. Fordham called the meeting to order. Emily saw more glances at them; the staff were clearly waiting for him to tell them who they were. Instead, he started talking about his big news. She saw their curiosity about herself and Reid pushed to the back burner; excited murmurs ran over the staff as Fordham told them about the exhibit they were soon to host. Hands were raised, suggestions were made, people volunteered to handle this or that part of the preparations. No one was really looking at them anymore.

These people were nerds. They were history and literary nerds, to whom the prospect of rare medieval manuscripts was exciting and stimulating. This was their life, it was what they'd chosen to pursue, and this was a fantastic opportunity, as Fordham was explaining.

The meeting took about half an hour. As Fordham was winding up, Emily saw a few more curious glances tossed their way, but no one asked. He dismissed the group and everyone filed out, chattering excitedly amongst themselves. Emily glanced over at Reid's notepad, which he was subtly holding so she could read it. She saw what he'd written and nodded, glancing at him. They were on the same page.

Once they were alone again, Fordham turned to face them. "Well?"

"Interesting," Reid said.

"Were you able to tell who stole the manuscript pages?"

She and Reid exchanged a glance. "It isn't quite that simple."

"I don't know what you could even tell just from watching them."

Emily went to one of the chairs and put her hands on it. "Well, I can tell you that Chase Gregory is after your job."

"No kidding. That isn't exactly a secret."

"Is it a secret that you slept with him?"

Fordham's jaw dropped. "How did you know that?"

Emily smiled. "Don't be too impressed. Last night we did quick backgrounds on everyone on the list you sent us and Chase has a long history of sleeping his way to the top, reading between the lines, and when he started here you would have been the one he targeted. And he's resentful that it didn't apparently get him the result he wanted."

"No, it didn't. I wish I could go back in time and take that back. You're saying he took the pages?"

Reid interrupted. "Cynthia Mershon, she was sitting here," he said, standing behind one of the chairs.

"That's right."

"She's going to quit soon."

"Really?"

"Really. Everyone else was excited about the new exhibit, except her. She seemed distracted and her mind was elsewhere. Plus she was carrying a new briefcase. Her schedule over the last four weeks shows that she's taken three afternoons for 'doctor's appointments.' She's going on interviews."

"Damn," Fordham said. "I don't want to lose her."

"Also, Ms. Mershon and Chase Gregory hate each other. Quite a lot," Emily said.

Fordham nodded. "I've noticed some tension there. It started a few months ago. I don't know what went on with them. None of my business, as long as it doesn't affect their work."

"Rosemary Battelle, the archivist who helped me yesterday morning," Reid said, going to the chair where Rosemary had sat. "It's curious that she knew we were both FBI agents and yet didn't mention it when everyone around her was wondering who we were."

Fordham rubbed his semi-bald pate in frustration. "So who took the pages?"

Emily sighed. "Dr. Fordham, we suspect that whoever took the pages took them not because they wanted them, for financial or other reasons, but as a demonstration that they could be taken. Why such a demonstration is necessary, we're not sure."

"So you're saying that this theft was some kind of message?"

"It's the motive that makes the most sense, especially considering that as far as we can tell, the stolen pages have not been actually sold. Whoever took them still has them."

"What do we do now?"

"Now? I'd suggest something proactive," Reid said, looking over at her. "Em, what do you think?"

She thought for a moment. "What if he made it known to the staff that the theft had occurred, but that the pages had been returned?"

His eyebrows went up. "Interesting."

"What would that accomplish?" Fordham asked.

"Dr. Fordham, what time does the evening shift change happen on your security staff?"

"Two a.m."

"Can you meet us back here at, say, quarter of two?"

He frowned. "Yes, but…why?"

"It's better if you don't know," Reid said. "We're supposed to leave this evening, but I think we can extend our stay until tomorrow." He glanced at her and she nodded. "If you were to circulate a memo to the staff this evening, would they read it tonight?"

"Oh, yes. Everyone here is an email addict. I often send out memos to people's home emails. Everyone will at the very least check before they go to bed."

"All right, then. Here's what you should do. Send a memo to the staff that they'll see tonight. Don't say that the pages were stolen. Say that they were – misplaced. During maintenance of the manuscript, or something that'll sound plausible. But say that they've fortunately been located and will be returned to their proper place. Call a meeting for tomorrow to discuss new procedures to prevent such a thing from happening again, and tell them that you'll have the missing pages there for them to see."

Fordham was nodding. "All right. I just hope you know what you're doing."

"We do this for a living," Emily said. Reid was fidgeting a bit and looked a little impatient. Emily knew why. "Dr. Fordham," she said, "we appreciate the importance of this crime to you and we're glad to help. But frankly – well, we came here so that my husband could have some time with the manuscript. It was a gift to him from me. We've already spent some of his valuable research time on this. Would you mind if he resumes with the manuscript? I will help you with the preparations for the meeting tomorrow." She glanced at Reid, who was looking at her with an expression of great relief.

"Of course, of course," Fordham said. "How inconsiderate of me not to have thought of that sooner. Dr. Reid, of course you'd like your full time with the manuscript. Come with me, I'll take you down to the archival room myself."

Reid came over to get his bag and paused to squeeze her hand and kiss her cheek. "Thanks," he whispered.

She just smiled and sent him off, a bounce in his step that made him look like an eager schoolboy. Emily went back out to the hall and headed for the lobby, getting out her cell phone and dialing.

"Hotchner."

"Hotch, it's Emily."

"How's Yale? Is Reid having fun with that whatever manuscript?"

"Oh, he's on cloud nine. Listen, I know we'd planned to be back tomorrow morning, but we'd like to stay through tomorrow and be back Tuesday morning if that's all right with you."

"Anything wrong?"

"Well – the director here has asked for our help investigating something. Don't worry, we're not using any Bureau resources."

"You two need the team?"

"Nothing that serious. Some stolen medieval manuscript pages."

"Sounds like you've got everything under control."

"We're hoping to lure the thief out of hiding with a carefully worded memo," she said, grinning.

"Maybe we should try that approach," Hotch said, and Emily could hear him smiling. "Listen, take as long as you want. Maybe some time away from the office would be welcome," he said. "I know you both care about the job, but make sure you're taking care of your marriage, too." She heard the bitterness of his own experience in that regard in Hotch's voice, and the regret.

Emily nodded. "We will."

* * *

She went downstairs to the archival rooms when five o'clock rolled around and found Reid with the manuscript, bent close over it with his magnifying glass in front of his face, his hair falling in his eyes and his tie askew. He looked up as she entered. "Oh, is it lunchtime?"

She put her hand on his shoulder. "Honey, it's five o'clock."

He blinked in dismay. "Really?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Oh." He sagged like a little boy who's just been told the zoo is closing in five minutes. She half-expected his lower lip to pooch out and start trembling and big, fat tears to roll down his cheeks. Instead, he just sighed and began putting everything away. "It's just as well," he said. "I could spend weeks with this thing. Better cut me off sooner rather than later." He looked up at her. "What did you do all day?"

"I've been here."

"All day?" he said, frowning.

"Mostly. I helped Dr. Fordham write the memo he's going to send out, and then I went down to the security office and made all the arrangements there. I changed our flight home and ran a few errands."

"So that's it?"

"That's it. Everything is set up. I called Hotch, he's fine with us staying an extra day. Dr. Fordham sent the memo just after lunch. So until two, there's nothing more for us to do, so you and I are going on a date, Dr. Reid."

He closed up the manuscript's sealed Plexiglas case. "A date?" he said, grinning.

"That's right. In the city. I made reservations for us at Daniel."

"One of only five New York City restaurants to receive four stars from the Times," Reid recited. He frowned. "Can we afford to eat there?"

"It's not like we go once a week. We can afford it."

"We didn't bring appropriate clothes."

"I may have taken some time away from security arrangements to go clothes shopping," Emily said.

"This is turning into an expensive date."

"Consider it part of your anniversary-present package."

"I don't know if I should, considering that your present only cost me fifty dollars."

* * *

Walking up Fifth Avenue after dinner on the arm of her handsome, well-dressed husband, Emily wondered for a moment if this was what it felt like to be one of the Beautiful People. She'd grown up around a lot of rich, well-connected people but had never felt like one of them despite her family's resources. She'd moved around too much to feel rooted anywhere. Wealthy New Yorkers were all around them, and at a first glance they blended in.

"I feel like an anthropologist," Reid commented. "Cloaking myself in the garb of the natives to study their customs."

She smiled. "It takes more than a nice suit to blend in. As long as no one talks to us, we ought to pass."

"Dinner was amazing," he said, looking down at her.

"I know, wasn't it? Of course, it ought to have been, at that price." She shivered a little with the chill, tucking herself closer against his side. "What now?"

"I don't know, this is your show."

"I hoped you might have some ideas."

"How about we find a little café where we can get coffee or a glass of wine before we head back to New Haven, and then I ravish you in our hotel room?"

"Perfect." They kept walking. "Of course – this isn't exactly a 'little café' neighborhood," she said, looking across the street at the designer boutiques

"I could buy you an overpriced handbag."

"No, thanks. I think we've spent enough money already tonight." She took a deep breath of the crisp November night air. "I feel so glamorous after that restaurant."

"You look pretty sensational in that dress, Mrs. Reid."

"Why, thank you. I keep half-hoping we'll run into someone we know so we can be all glamorous in front of them, too."

"The odds of us running into someone we know are pretty slim," he said.

"Spencer?" said a woman's voice behind them. They both stopped in their tracks. "Spencer _Reid?_"

She looked up at him. "You have got to be kidding me."

They turned around to see who'd spoken. It was a young blond woman, very pretty and perfectly turned-out. Emily recognized her immediately; it was Lila Archer, a young actress who Reid had a brief relationship with years ago. Since first mentioning it back in Dallas, he'd filled her in on the whole story. Naturally this had sent Emily straight to the woman's IMDB page. She felt Reid start in surprise at the sight of her. Lila's jaw dropped and her whole face creased in a broad smile. "Oh my God, I thought that was you!" She rushed forward and hugged him, a little too intimately for Emily's taste.

"Lila," Reid said, half-hugging her back. "This is a…" She kissed him firmly right on the mouth. "…surprise," he said, once she'd let him go. Reid had told her about how he and Lila had kept in sporadic contact, meeting up a few times over the next year, but never actually progressing to anything resembling a real relationship. He'd confessed that yes, they had slept together on occasion, but they'd both known it could never work between them.

"Reid, you look amazing!" Lila exclaimed. Emily covered her smile with one hand. The woman might as well have had little cartoon hearts in her eyes. "It's been years, you've changed so much!"

"You, uh, haven't changed at all," he stammered. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm doing Letterman tomorrow night," she said, with a dismissive hand-wave. "Some press for a movie I shot last hiatus. What are you doing here? It's so amazing that we bumped into each other…"

Reid cut her off, pulling Emily back to his side. "Lila, I'd like you to meet my wife," he said, pointedly. "Emily Prentiss. Em, this is Lila Archer, an old – friend."

Emily almost felt bad for Lila as she watched her visibly deflate. "Oh," she said, pasting on the phoniest smile Emily had ever seen. She couldn't begrudge her, though. That phony smile was covering disappointment. "Your wife, that's great! Nice to meet you," she said, shaking Emily's hand.

"You too. I've heard so much about you."

"Oh, really? That's – nice. How long have you been married?" she asked.

"Little over a year," Reid said, his arm around Emily's waist. "Emily is an agent in the BAU as well."

"I don't remember you from before," Lila said.

"Your case was before I joined the unit," Emily said.

"Oh, I see. Well, it's really nice to see you, Spencer," Lila said, falling back into politeness.

"You, too. I'll try and catch you on Letterman tomorrow night."

"Yeah, that'd be great. Thanks. It was nice to meet you, Emily. Take care." She gave Reid one last glance, then turned around and resumed her course up the street. Reid watched her go, looking a little befuddled.

"That was weird," he said.

"You heartbreaker," Emily said, taking his arm again. They started walking again. "So," she said after a silence of a few minutes. "That was Lila, huh?"

"Emily…"

"She's very pretty."

"Yes, she is. Tell me you're not considering acting jealous."

"Maybe I am jealous."

"No, you're not, and if you acted jealous you'd just be doing it to tease me, so can we skip it, please?"

"Oh, all right. Ruin my fun."

He was quiet, and Emily started to regret her flippancy. "I didn't know she still had any feelings for me," he said.

"Maybe she didn't, until she saw you again."

"I haven't talked to her in – gosh, it must be three years. It was after Gideon left but before Foyet."

"A girl can carry a torch for a long time."

"It just seems counterproductive. She could have any man she wanted."

"Well, most of us don't want any man, Reid. We just want one particular man."


	7. Case 2:The Mysterious Manuscript, 4 of 4

**Part 4**

**

* * *

**

Reid was still suspicious of contentment. He waited for it to be shattered, for the inevitable insecurity or frustration to seep in and taint it. He was learning to take the moments of pure contentment when he could get them, because life intruded and they didn't last.

Now, for example, lying in the hotel room bed spooned up behind his wife after having made love to her, their dressy clothes strewn about the room, feeling the rise and fall of her chest as she dozed and how she snuggled close to him in her sleep, he was content. Yet his brain insisted on twirling, looking for a reason for him to worry, searching for a seed of trouble.

This reflex had been the root cause of one of the worst fights he and Emily had ever had. About six months into their marriage an offhand comment he'd made about her inevitable dissatisfaction with him had led to a shouting match and three days of anxious, angry tension before finally, on the third evening, they'd sought each other out and made up. Loudly, and several times in a row. He smiled now to think of that. The reconciliation had almost been worth the fight.

He glanced at the clock. Just after one. Gently, he shook her shoulder. "Em? Wake up."

She stirred, making a distressed little noise. "Hmmm."

"We have to go soon. It's just past one."

She turned over in his arms and he felt her lips on his neck, then her hand wandered up to stroke his face. "Hafta?" she mumbled.

"Well, if we don't, this will have all been for nothing."

She sighed. "Gimme a kiss."

He nudged her face with his own until he could reach her lips, then dove between them, kissing her with more gusto than she'd probably expected. She made a surprised little mewl before returning the kiss, her mouth opening to his and her arms snaking around his neck. When he finally let her come up for air she looked much more awake, if a little distracted and aroused. "Damn," she breathed. "You are one sexy bitch, Dr. Reid."

He chuckled. "It's a well-kept secret."

"Good. More for me." She kissed him again, less intensely. "I love you so much," she murmured.

He sighed. There was that pesky contentment again. "I love you, too. But now we have to get up."

Reluctantly, they rose from the warm, cozy bed and dressed in jeans and sweaters. They put on their coats and went out into the freezing November night, huddled into their scarves, walking as fast as possible across campus to the Beinecke.

The head security officer was waiting for them at an inconspicuous side entrance. "Is Dr. Fordham here yet?" Emily asked.

"Just arrived, ma'am. Didn't look too happy."

"Well, we'd rather be warm in bed, too," she said.

"Yes, ma'am."

They stole down the corridor the back way into the security office. Fordham was there, clutching a cup of convenience-store coffee. "Now can you tell me why I'm here?" he grumbled. "And what's all this?" he said, gesturing at the several laptops hanging out on the security desk, showing views of the vault's interior corridors. "We don't have cameras in the vaults."

"You do now," Emily said. "Just some strategically-placed webcams. Pretty low-tech but the best we could do no short notice."

Fordham sighed. "The suspense is killing me."

Reid cleared his throat. "Dr. Fordham, the Voynich Manuscript is delicate and old. It requires controlled conditions to maintain its integrity, correct?"

"Correct."

"Whoever took the pages has not sold them. Which means they still have them. If they want to maintain their value, they'd need to keep them in controlled conditions. If you wanted to steal these pages but keep them somewhere secure, what would be easiest thing to do?"

Fordham's face went slack with astonishment. "Keep them here."

"We suspect that the thief stashed the pages somewhere else in the vaults. Given the difficulty in sneaking them out without folding, spindling or mutilating and the necessity to maintain their condition, it's the simplest explanation."

"So when I sent a memo that the missing pages had been found…"

"The thief would immediately suspect that their stash had been located. They would have to sneak in here and check. The most logical time to do that is at shift change, two a.m., and this entrance is the only one without a camera monitoring the keycard access panel. Someone could sneak in unobserved."

Fordham nodded. "Absolutely right. I still don't understand why anybody would take these pages in the first place, especially if they don't want to sell them."

Reid grinned. "Well, I think we can ask him," he said, nodding toward the laptop. Fordham and Emily looked. On the screen, Chase Gregory was skulking into the vaults through the side entrance, pocketing his ID card. Reid took a radio from the security officer and slipped it into his pocket. "Come on," he said.

The three of them went down to the vaults through another stairwell, the officer keeping them apprised of Gregory's whereabouts. "Are you two armed?" Dr. Fordham hissed as they crept through the corridors.

Reid just looked at him. "Yes, we are, but I don't think we'll need weapons to resolve this situation."

"Just checking," Fordham said, flushing a little with embarrassment.

The radio crackled. Reid had it turned almost all the way down; he had to hold it right up to his ear to hear. "He's gone into the restoration room."

"This way," Fordham said. They tiptoed down another corridor. "That'd be a good place to hide something. The storage areas aren't really catalogued or inventoried, everything there is waiting for authentication or reconstruction."

Fordham used his keycard to get them into the room. They could hear movement in the stacks. They just stood there and waited. Within a few moments, Chase Gregory emerged, looking relieved – but that relief fell off his face when he saw them. He drew up short, blinking and going pale. "Dr. Fordham," he said. His eyes fell on Reid and Emily. "Who are you people? You were at the meeting today."

Emily stepped forward. "We're with the FBI, Mr. Gregory. I'm Agent Prentiss, this is Agent Reid."

"I warned you not to involve the authorities!" Gregory said, looking at Fordham.

Reid and Emily turned to look at Dr. Fordham. He spluttered and stammered. "I don't...I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Yes, you do," Reid said. "He's been holding those pages over your head for months now."

Fordham looked on the verge of indignant denial, but then he just sagged like the air had been let out of him. "How long have you known?"

"Almost since we met you," Emily said.

"My first clue was when you said that my mother-in-law had spoken well of me," Reid said, smirking. "Have you ever actually met her?"

Fordham sighed. "Once. At a cocktail party."

"She wouldn't brag about me to a near-stranger."

"Come on, she likes you fine," Emily grumbled.

"We do all right, but she wouldn't go around telling random people how awesome I am."

She had to concede the point. "True."

"We also already knew that it was not you but Cynthia Mershon who approved my researcher's pass," Reid said. "You didn't even know who we were or what I was doing here yesterday."

"Not until Rosemary explained it to me when you asked to see me."

"You would never have let me see that manuscript if you knew who I was," Reid said. "You couldn't risk the theft becoming known, not because of the library's reputation but to protect Mr. Gregory here, who'd made it very clear that there'd be consequences if you made the matter public. But once we were there, you couldn't get out of it, so you took the opportunity to have us deal with it for you. What did Gregory threaten you with?"

Fordham nodded. "He said he'd burn the pages and that he'd take something else, I wouldn't know what until it was too late."

"Unless you gave him the job he wanted. Cynthia's job."

"I was promised that job when I was hired here," Gregory sneered.

"You were _not!_" Fordham said, leaping to his feet in indignation. "You were promised opportunities for advancement when merited! What, you think everything's just going to be handed to you?"

"Yes, he does," Emily said. "Because it always has been."

"Did you figure out it was him at the staff meeting?" Fordham asked.

"We had a pretty good idea it was him just from the background checks," Emily said. "But the staff meeting wasn't really for the staff. I was watching them, true, but Dr. Reid was watching _you,_ Dr. Fordham."

He frowned. "But...you were behind me."

"I was watching your reflection in the window across the way," Reid said. "You knew that Emily and I would be looking for signs on the faces of your staff. Someone who really didn't know who'd taken the pages, as you claimed not to, would have been looking, too, to try and see what we might see. You never so much as glanced at anybody. You didn't have to. You already knew who we were looking for."

"We wondered if you'd taken the pages yourself," Emily said. "But it became clear that you were the victim in this scenario. Rosemary Battelle isn't someone who'd willingly conceal a theft, so if she was doing so, it was either to help you or because she was afraid you. You don't have a menacing bone in your body, Dr. Fordham. She must have been trying to help you."

He nodded miserably. "That poor woman. This has been very difficult for her. She's quite attached to that particular manuscript. I feel awful that it had to be her who discovered the theft."

"And when she did, she went right to you and reported it, and you had to tell her the truth."

"She just kept saying we had to report it," Fordham said. "But she was horrified at the idea that something could happen to those pages, so she went along with it."

"But she also went to Cynthia Mershon," Emily said. "Cynthia decided to take one for the team. Rather than risk the destruction of the pages and the library's reputation, she'd leave the library and open up the position so you could promote Mr. Gregory here."

"I had no idea she knew anything about this," Fordham said.

Emily walked over to Gregory and put her hand in his coat pocket, withdrawing his ID. She showed it to them; it was Cynthia's. "She gave him her ID so he'd avoid being implicated by a keycard entry record. The most insidious thing about blackmail is that it forces its victims to become accomplices. They have to make sure the perpetrator succeeds, or face the consequences."

Fordham hurried over to Gregory. "Where are the pages?" he demanded.

Gregory sighed. "Underneath that box of loose diary pages we got from the guy."

Fordham dashed into the storage room. Reid looked over at Emily and smiled. "Nice," he said. "With the ID badge."

"I thought it added a little dramatic flair."

"How'd you figure that? That one got by me."

"I saw them do a little dead drop at the staff meeting. Figured she was helping him get access without leaving a trail. She wouldn't do it out of altruism since she clearly hated his guts."

"You two are awfully pleased with yourselves," Gregory grumbled.

"Yeah, I know, you would have gotten away with it if it weren't for us meddling FBI agents," Emily said. "It's time for you to go to jail now."

* * *

The sky was going gray with the dawn by the time the police left with Chase Gregory in tow, arrested for grand larceny and blackmail. Cynthia Mershon had been notified that her job was still hers if she wanted it, and Rosemary Battelle showed up in tears after Fordham called her. She wouldn't go home until she'd been allowed to see the pages with her own two eyes. "Dr. Reid, you must think I'm so silly," she said, touching them through the protective sleeves Gregory had put them in. "But I swear it kept me up nights wondering where they were, if they were safe. Like they were people or something."

"I don't think that's silly, Rosemary. They're not people, but they're the only record of one particular person, and I think he or she must have been someone amazing." Emily watched his face as he said this, knowing that he really believed it.

Rosemary smiled and nodded, tears in her eyes. "Thank you for getting them back."

"It was my pleasure," he said.

Dr. Fordham came walking up. "I can't thank you two enough for your help. I wouldn't have thought to trick him into revealing where he kept those pages."

"Well, we're professionals. Don't try this at home," Emily joked, lacing her fingers through Reid's.

"Gregory didn't put up much of a fight," Reid commented.

"Oh, he probably thinks that his fancy family connections will be able to get him off with a slap on the wrist. Bugger of it is that he might be right."

"If it looks like it's going that way, give us a call. We know some people."

Fordham smiled. "I'll remember that." He reached into his pocket. "Dr. Reid, I have something for you." He handed Reid a badge. Not a temporary paper one, a laminated one. It said "Consultant" on it. "This is a permanent research pass. You can come back anytime you like and spend as much time as you like with the Voynich, or any of our other volumes that interest you."

Reid looked overwhelmed. It was like watching a kid get the Christmas present he'd always wanted. "I don't know what to say," he stammered. "Thank you!"

"You're very welcome. Although I ought to be apologizing to you, Agent Prentiss," he said, with a little bow at her, "if this means you're going to be regularly deprived of your husband's company on the weekends."

She grinned. "You let me worry about that, Dr. Fordham. I have ways of keeping him home."

* * *

_later that night, after a train ride followed by a plane trip followed by a drive home from the airport courtesy of a grumpy Morgan_

_

* * *

_

"You're going to miss it!"

"And wouldn't _that_ be a tragedy," he grumbled.

"Reid! She's your friend!"

"No, she's not," he said, coming back into the den with a cup of coffee. "She's someone I once dated and lost touch with."

"Still, how often is someone you know on Letterman?"

He sat down next to her. "Rossi's been on Letterman twice. Charlie Rose four times."

"Stop being obstinate."

"I just can't figure out why you're so keen to watch this."

"I'm curious."

"About Lila?"

"You don't talk about her."

"What's to say?"

"Did you love her?"

He looked down at her. "Is that what this is about?"

"I'm not jealous, I'm just interested. Not in her, in you. She's part of your history and I'm interested in your history."

"No, I didn't love her. I liked her a lot. I was infatuated. I was twenty-four years old and she was...well, you saw her."

"What was she like, though? Besides blonde and pretty."

He sighed. "She was – fresh. She was enthusiastic about things in a way that appealed to me. She liked art and photography. She was obsessive about yoga and pretended to like bubblegum pop music while secretly she listened to Megadeth and Jacqueline du Pre cello concertos. She worshiped Rita Hayworth. She wanted to have a career like Meg Ryan without the tragic plastic surgery. Like a lot of young girls with daddy issues, she just wanted to be universally adored. Why she chose to start with me, I'll never know."

Emily smiled. "See, with just that little bit of information, she became a person. And she was someone who could have had any hunky slab of Hollywood beef she wanted, but you were the guy she went for. I respect women who see your appeal. And I say this with vast affection, but I've seen pictures. You're much hotter now than you were then."

He blushed. "I guess it won't kill me to watch her segment. But then I'm going to bed because I'm exhausted."

"Fair enough."

They settled in and sat through Letterman's monologue and all the fooforaw that went with it until finally, after a commercial break, Letterman sat behind his desk and introduced his guest.

"She's beloved of many frathouses from her years on 'Sandstorm Beach' but starting next week you can see her in her new film 'Tahitian Treat,' please welcome Lila Archer!"

Applause, applause. Lila emerged and waved to the crowd. She looked damn amazing in a swishy blue dress, clingy but modest, her hair loosely styled. She sat down in the chair and she and Letterman exchanged the usual pleasantries.

"So do you like New York, you come here often?" Letterman asked her.

"Oh, I'm a California girl, but I have a few friends here," Lila replied. "I came in yesterday morning to visit a college friend. Of course it's like a New York law that I had to bump into someone I know."

Emily elbowed him. "Reid, she's talking about you!"

"No, she isn't," he said, making a face.

"Oh, who'd you bump into?" Letterman asked.

She fidgeted a little and got a bit shy. "An ex-boyfriend of mine. Yeah," she said, off the audience's murmur of sympathy. "He was that one, you know? The one that got away?"

"Sure, sure," Letterman said. "Well, why'd you let him get away?"

"It was just one of those things. He isn't in the business, it was distance, you know. He lives out here, down in DC."

Reid harrumphed. "Okay, she might be talking about me."

"You think?" Emily teased him.

"DC, huh?" Letterman said. "It's the President, isn't it?"

Lila laughed. "No, no. Nobody famous."

"Well, was he at least broken down and decrepit and all heartbroken since you broke up?" Letterman said.

"God, no. In fact he looked better than ever." She sighed. "It was just like that song, you know? Meeting the man of my dreams and then meeting his beautiful wife?"

Letterman winced as the audience went "awwww." "Ouch, he was with his wife, huh?"

"Yeah! His gorgeous, amazing wife!" She shrugged. "But I'm glad he's happy." Then Letterman changed the subject and they were off in another direction.

Reid was just sitting there, stunned. Emily crunched up some popcorn. "Huh," she said. "I like her."

* * *

_one week later  
Office of Dr. Radikha Venkatesan_

_

* * *

_

The waiting room was refreshingly neutral. He'd been afraid it would be chock full of baby propaganda, but then realized there was no reason for that. Genetic counseling was undertaken for a variety of reasons, not all of which had to do with childbirth.

Emily flipped through last week's Time magazine while they waited. They were due back at the BAU in an hour; he hoped this wouldn't take too long.

_It'll take as long as it needs to, Reid. You want to be thorough._

Did he, though? What answer was he hoping to get from this woman? It was like that old psychiatrist's game when a patient was torn between two options. The psychiatrist offers to flip a coin, the patient calls it in the air, but then before revealing the results, the psychiatrist surprises the patient into the realization that there really is one outcome he's hoping for more than the other.

This wasn't quite a coin flip, but it was certainly bringing his murky feelings into stark relief.

The door to the office opened and a very pretty Indian woman came out. "Mr. and Mrs. Reid?" she said.

They got up and Emily shook her hand. "I'm Emily Prentiss," she said, subtly correcting the woman's nomenclature, "and this is my husband, Dr. Spencer Reid."

"Of course," she said, shaking Reid's hand. "I'm Dr. Venkatesan. Please come in."

They sat down in the chairs before her desk. "So you are a doctor, then?" Reid asked. "Most genetic counselors are not MDs."

"I have a PhD in clinical psychology, so in a manner of speaking, yes," she said, smiling. "Robbie Montrose referred you to me?"

"I was in a research group with Robbie at CalTech," Reid explained.

"She told me. She said you were the most brilliant man she'd ever met."

Reid squirmed a little. "That superlative is impossible to verify."

"Well, regardless, I'm glad she did. How can I help you?"

They exchanged a glance. Emily took a breath and spoke. "We're discussing the possibility of having children, but Spencer is concerned because his mother is a paranoid schizophrenic. There's also the question of my age. I'll be 41 in October."

Dr. Venkatesan nodded, making notes. "Well, those are concerns. Here's how this is going to work. Today I will take detailed medical histories from each of you and as much of your family history as you can give me. I'll send you home with assignments to get more family medical information, as much as you can. We may decide to do some blood tests. I'll have you back and we'll collate all the information and do whatever tests are required, and then we'll see where we are. Sound good?"

Emily nodded. "Sounds good."

The doctor looked from his face to hers. "So you're ready for some answers?"

Reid met Emily's eyes, then reached out and took her hand. "Yes, I think we are."

THE END

* * *

_All right, y'all have been pretty stingy with the comments. Let me know you're reading. You must feed the beast if you wish it to write more fic for you!_

_Next up should be "Somewhere, It Hides a Well."_


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